


Inside My Mind

by Esin_of_Sardis



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Madness, Ogre Wars, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 137,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esin_of_Sardis/pseuds/Esin_of_Sardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French wants nothing more than to be a writer. When an idea comes to her, it consumes her: it’s a twist on the Snow White fairy tale and eerily similar to her own life… The story begins to consume her every thought, but is it really a story at all or something… more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Man In Town

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I've been working with for over three years, and have recently added the fanfic components to solve some world-building problems. It's rather... out there, but I think it fits the OUAT characters perfectly.
> 
> I have to give recognition to my best friend and editor elli.O. She's been with me in this since the beginning and is most of the reason it's this good. She's also made an epic cover image for me, but I can't get it up here. It's on the FFN copy of this story if you're interested, as well on my tumblr page.

Lisabelle French took the key from the lock and returned it to her pocket. It had been a usual day. Nothing special. The Storybrooke Library was quiet most of the time. There weren’t too many readers in the small town. Locking up always made her rather sad in a way. Turning the key on the books and leaving them behind in the night was like leaving a whole group of her dearest friends. She knew it was silly, but she’d always had a connection with books and stories.

Belle pulled her jacket a little closer against the light drizzle that had been falling all day. The walk from the library to Granny’s diner was only a few blocks, so her best friend Ruby had asked her to stop by after work. Belle wasn’t sure why Ruby was still a waitress there. All she did was complain about her grandmother’s rules.

Ruby had always been a free spirit of a sort. She wore skin-tight, skimpy clothes and heavy makeup. The streaks in her hair changed color every few weeks—usually varying shades of red, her favorite color. She said what she thought and was perfectly happy to flirt with any man who walked her way. She hadn’t ever had a steady boyfriend, but Belle was certain she’d been nursing a crush on Archie Hopper, the town psychiatrist, for a while now.

The diner was busy for a Tuesday night. It seemed that every seat was full and there was a small line at the register where Ruby seemed to have recruited Ashley Boyd to help.  
When Belle walked in, Ruby waved to her over a customer’s head, gesturing with her head towards an empty booth in the back. Belle grinned and gave Ruby a thumbs-up. She headed back to her seat, pausing to greet most of the people there. She was friendly with almost everyone. Granny and Billy the custodian both waved. Marco tipped his hat to her on his way out. Even Leroy gave her a smile (though that might just have been due to intoxication). She pulled out a book from her purse—Le Fantôme de l’Opèra by Gaston Leroux— and settled down to wait.

“So,” Ruby announced a few minutes later, sliding into the booth with two glasses of iced tea.

Belle placed her bookmark in and set the paperback down on the table. “Yes?” she asked. Ruby had a habit of starting conversations like this.

Ruby grinned and tugged her red-streaked hair out of the bun she’d kept it in for work. “Iced tea? You’ll have to pay for it, but…”

“I’ll take it.” Belle tore the end off the straw wrapper and blew it at Ruby. She ignored her friend’s protests about having to clean it up later and said, “Did you have something to tell me? Or did you ask me to come by for no reason?”

“Does a girl need a reason to want to see her best friend?” Ruby showed off her mastered fake pout.

“There’s always a reason with you, Ruby Lucas,” Belle said. “And don’t think I don’t realize you’re making me pay for my own bribe with the iced tea.”

“Alright,” Ruby said, leaning forward and giving Belle a wide conspiratorial grin, her eyes shining with excitement. “There’s someone new in town.”

“Oh?” Belle said. She didn’t want to sound too interested—Ruby could get the wrong idea from anything—but it was rare news for there to be strangers in Storybrooke. It was a small town miles off the main highway. No one came there if they didn’t intend it as their destination. And there wasn’t much in the way of tourist attractions around.

“You’ll never guess who.” Ruby sat back and grinned at Belle’s confusion.

“I know them?”

Ruby nodded. “And let me just say: someone grew up well.”

Belle laughed. There weren’t many people she knew who had left Storybrooke, and even fewer who would consider returning. It narrowed down the possibilities for sure, but she had no clue who Ruby was talking about. “Just tell me!”

“Hey, guys! Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

Belle scooted over on the bench to make room for the third of their little trio of best friends, Mary Margaret Blanchard. She was tiny—though not so much as Belle—and her nearly black hair was cut in a cute pixie style. She still wore the slacks and a cardigan ensemble she wore for her job as a teacher at the town’s elementary school.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Or at least, his sister will,” Ruby said, smirking more than ever now.

Belle’s mouth dropped open. “No,” she said. “It can’t be.”

Ruby turned to Mary Margaret. “I was just telling Belle about our newcomer,” she explained. “I’ve heard from… reliable sources that he’s turned into quite the looker.”

Mary Margaret giggled at Belle’s expression. “I thought he was gone for good. Done with this town. All that. What happened?” Belle said.

“There was a bad ending to a relationship,” Mary Margaret said. “He hasn’t told me everything yet, but I haven’t really seen him much.”

“Seriously?” Belle said. “Your brother is back in Storybrooke?”

Ruby nodded. “Graham Blanchard is back in town. And he’s already been given the position of Sheriff.”

Belle took a long sip of her iced tea to give herself time to think. She hadn’t seen Graham since he graduated from high school and left to go off to college and later, a police academy in Boston. Mary Margaret had seen him plenty over the years (late night Skypes, weekend trips to Boston, family gatherings) but he had never been around at the same time her two best friends were.

Graham had always been different. He was a bit of a loner and had preferred martial arts and archery to video games. He had never been happy staying put in their small town. Mary Margaret had often described him as having an insatiable wander-lust. He had settled down in Boston years before, working as a policeman. But now he was back. Suddenly, unexpectedly, and—according to Ruby—all grown up.

“Have you seen him?” Belle asked.

Ruby shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Then how do you know what he looks like?”

“That’s the good part.” Ruby’s grin only grew wider as she leaned over the table closer to Mary Margaret and Belle. “I was talking to Madelina Dormante when she came in for coffee this afternoon—you know her, she’s the curly blonde who was always hanging around Regina Mills.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve met her,” Mary Margaret said. “She used to work at the Sheriff’s station, right? She was the secretary.”

“Right,” Ruby said. “But she’s not the secretary anymore.”

“Why not?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I dunno. Maybe she got a job offer doing something else. It could be anything. But the new secretary in the Sheriff’s office?” Ruby paused a moment for dramatic effect. “Is Regina.”

“No,” Mary Margaret gasped. “How’d she get that?”

“It makes sense,” Belle said. “Her mother’s the most powerful woman in town. Cora Mills gives Regina whatever she wants.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Ruby said. “The point is that she’s the new secretary.”

“But what does Her Royal Harpyness’ new job have to do with Mary Margaret’s brother?” Belle asked. She loved Ruby to death, but sometimes her explanations got a little off topic.  
“Because Madelina also mentioned today that Regina simply cannot stop talking about a certain new superior of hers. Apparently, he’s very handsome indeed.”

Mary Margaret’s face turned to one of disgust. “Regina is checking out my brother?”

Belle grinned into her tea when Ruby’s eye took on a mischievous glint. “Just because he’s your brother doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t find him attractive, Mary Margaret.”

“I don’t mind if the rest of you are looking at him,” Mary Margaret said. “But Regina…”

Ruby shook her head. “Trust me: we’re looking.”

“Maybe I didn’t need to know that much. He is still my brother…”

“Now,” Belle said, grinning at Mary Margaret’s obvious discomfort with the topic of conversation, “what we really need to know is if the rumors are true. Is your brother this handsome?”

Mary Margaret opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find something to say. “I mean, I suppose he is,” she said. “Handsome, I mean. He’s my brother. I don’t really…”

“Mary. Margaret. Blanchard,” Ruby said, her eyebrows rising into her hair and her lips twitching in their attempt to hide a smirk. “Just because you’re his sister doesn’t mean you don’t have eyes. Is he as hot as everyone’s saying?”

Belle looked back and forth between the two girls. She was usually the spectator in these sorts of things. Ruby and Mary Margaret were so different—sometimes it was hard to understand how they were even friends—and Belle was always much better at relating to books than people.

Mary Margaret was saved from having to answer Ruby’s question when Belle giggled and nodded to the door of the diner. “He’s as hot as everyone’s saying all right.”

The man who had just walked through the door was tall and tanned. His light brown hair curled a bit and he had a short beard that gave him a rather rugged look. He was still wearing his work clothes: blue shirt, brown vest, tie, and badge with a leather jacket thrown over the top. Gone was the skinny, misfit teenager that had left for college sixteen years ago. He looked more self-assured too, Belle thought. He had more confidence and sense of self in the way he walked and moved. He had grown up.

“What?” Ruby twisted around in her seat to look at the man who had just entered the diner. When she turned back around she looked straight at her two friends and said, “No. He’s much hotter than everyone was saying.”

Belle tried to stifle her giggle and hide her smile in her iced tea while still sneaking glances at the new sheriff, who was ordering something to-go at the counter. It wasn’t working too well. Belle hadn’t had much experience with men. She’d dated a bit in high school and college, but after a few bad experiences had stopped trying to attract someone. And once she moved back to her hometown, there wasn’t really anyone new to be interested in. Ruby was the one to talk about this sort of thing. Belle kept her love life confined within the pages of her books—where True Love won out and one always knew who was going to end up together far in advance. She’d had a few crushes and found enough men attractive to keep Ruby happy when she started an interrogation, but mostly stories were it for her. And mostly, she was fine with that.

Mary Margaret had a grin on her face as well as she watched Graham, but it wasn’t the appraising one Ruby wore. It was pure, innocent love. Graham was four years older than her, but the two had always been close. Even when he was a senior and she just his tag-along kid sister, he had always made time to hang out with her. Belle could remember them going out for movies and ice cream. He’d always pay with the money he made from his part-time job and let her hang on his arm. Sure, they had their fights (red-faced, waking-the-whole-neighborhood fights) but they were best friends.

“At least it’s the two of you and not Regina,” Mary Margaret muttered, failing to sound truly annoyed with them.

Ruby nodded, not taking her eyes from Graham. “See? It’s not that bad. At least Belle and I have hearts in our chests.”

“I’m sure Regina has a heart,” Mary Margaret protested. “It’s just… hidden… deep, deep down somewhere…”

Belle shook her head at Mary Margaret. She really was too kind sometimes. Sure, Belle would love to believe the best of Regina. But past experience had made that rather difficult.  
Ruby tore her eyes from Graham for a minute to give Mary Margaret a pitying look. “Don’t try to excuse her. She’s done nothing but try to make your life miserable since we were children.”

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to start the same old argument over again—Belle didn’t know how many times she’d heard them discuss Mary Margaret’s kindness to Regina—but thankfully they were cut off by a low, male voice with an Irish accent.

“Mary Margaret?”

Iced tea almost came spurting out of Belle’s nose at the shocked and awed expression on Ruby’s face. Belle was impressed as well and now infinitely glad she hadn’t humiliated herself at first meeting. His voice was lovely. Belle didn’t know where he’d picked up the accent, but it was gorgeous and Ruby obviously agreed.

“Graham!” Mary Margaret jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around her brother. He was a good six inches taller than her and lifted her up effortlessly to spin her around. He set her down gently on the floor and grinned.

“Do you want to join us?” she asked.

He shook his head and held up the brown paper bag of food. “I thought you and I could hang out tonight. It’s my evening off.”

Mary Margaret looked nervously back at Ruby and Belle. Belle grinned at her. “Shoo. Go hang out. We’ll be fine here.”

Ruby nodded. “Go have fun.”

“Thanks guys.” Mary Margaret turned back to Graham. “I’d love to hang out.”

He grinned at his sister, his affection for her written clearly on his face with an equivalent of blue sharpie. Belle thought it only made him look more handsome.

Graham offered his sister his arm. “Then your carriage awaits you, princess.”

Mary Margaret took his arm and walked with him out of the diner to the sheriff’s car parked outside. Belle was rather impressed that he remembered the game they had played as children. It hadn’t been often that the three girls had managed to convince Graham to play with them—he was much older and often either too cool or too busy. But the few times he had joined them, he had been the prince in their fairy tales. Or the dragon. Or the evil sorcerer. Or, one memorable time, the huntsman from ‘Snow White’. Mary Margaret had always been a princess, with Belle and Ruby filling in whatever parts they needed.

Ruby turned in her seat to watch them—or rather, Graham—go. Once the door swung shut behind them, Ruby turned back slowly. “He. Is. So. Hot.”

Belle burst out laughing. There was no better reaction, especially because she had been thinking the same thing.

“Seriously! Who gave him the right to have a voice like that?”

Belle only laughed harder. After a minute, she calmed down enough to say, “But what about Archie Hopper? The psychiatrist? I thought you were interested in him.”

“I am. But you know Granny would never let me date him. She’d say he was too old.”

“He’s not that much older,” Belle said. It was true, he was maybe a year or two older than Graham, but it wasn’t that bad. At least it was better than—no, she wouldn’t even think of that. She sometimes thought Ruby had a talent of mind-reading when it came to men. Even thinking about him would tip her off.

“Still, she’d come up with something wrong with him.” Ruby twirled her straw around in her as of yet untouched iced tea.

“You’ll find someone eventually,” Belle said. “It will all work out in the end.”

“Ruby!” Granny called from across the diner. “Ruby!”

Ruby cursed under her breath. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered. “Coming, Granny!” she then called.

“I’ll see you later, then?” Belle said, covering Ruby’s hand with her own.

“Yeah.” She got up. “Here. Take my iced tea. I don’t want it anymore.”

“Bye,” Belle said, but Ruby had already left. She drained the last of her first iced tea before transferring her straw to Ruby’s. Sighing, she pulled her book back out.

She barely got the chance to find her place again before someone slid into the bench opposite her.

“Good book?”

“Hello, August,” Belle said without looking up. August W. Booth alternated between her best friend and the bane of her existence on a regular basis. He was annoying and arrogant and entirely too mysterious for his own good. But at the same time, he was the only other person in Storybrooke who seemed to understand her love of books. Like Belle, August was a writer.

“I suppose it’s a good book,” he muttered.

Belle set her book down on the table, keeping her finger between the pages to mark her spot. “What do you want, August?”

“I was just wondering if you’d made any progress on finding an idea.”

Belle sighed. She’d been trying and failing to write for years. She’d get an idea and start it, but nothing ever stuck for long. She just couldn’t find something that she was excited about. She had hundreds of unfinished manuscripts in her closet and even more scraps of paper with a few words that were never enough to get a story. So instead of a novelist, Belle was the town librarian.

Writing was her passion, but she just couldn’t get something she was happy with. The few times she’d actually finished something, she’d gone back and fallen into despair over terrible writing or weak characters. There was just something missing, some spark that she still needed to find. But it was coming. She knew it. So Belle hoped and prayed that soon she would find the missing piece.

“Not really,” she told August. “I’m still searching.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Belle tried not to be angry at him. Mr. I’ve-got-a-book-published. It was nice of him to be so supportive of her, but sometimes she wished he’d stop pitying her. She didn’t need or want his pity. No, what she needed and wanted was an idea.

“I keep writing little snippets of things, but they never turn out to anything.” She took another sip of the iced tea, letting the cool liquid float over her tongue. She really shouldn’t drink so much of the stuff, but it was irresistible.

August sat back in his seat. “Well, what do you want to write about?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. I don’t even have a favorite type of book. I just like everything.”

“Have you ever thought about doing something with fairy tales?”

“What?”

“Fairy tales. You probably heard them as a kid. Disney movies. All that. I actually remember you and your friends acting some of them out as children…”

“I know what fairy tales are,” Belle interrupted.

August smirked. “I remember you having a particular love for them. So why not write a story that has fairy tales worked in?”

It was a good idea. Belle had always worked so hard to come up with a completely original idea—a feat that had proved difficult. All the ideas she came up with seemed to have already been used somewhere. But retelling one of the tales that had enchanted her childhood was a powerful notion indeed… if only she could figure out a good way to go about it…

“I’ll think about it,” she said. Sticking the bookmark in her spot, Belle replaced the paperback in her purse. “Thank you, but I really need to get going.”

“Good luck,” August said with that infuriating smirk of his. It was like he knew she had just fallen in love with his suggestion and also knew she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction of telling him, but he was taking satisfaction anyway because he was just too damn smart.

So Belle left him at the table. She got the rest of the iced tea to-go from Ruby and left the diner for her small apartment on the other side of town. The sun had completely set and the drizzle had let up, but the sidewalk was still slick with rain. She walked carefully, so as not to slip, but it was difficult to concentrate on her feet while her mind was flying.  
She was captivated with the idea of a story based on fairy tales. She had adored them as a child. She had read nearly every adaptation of “Beauty and the Beast” written. She had Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books lined up on her mantelpiece at home. With all the love and inspiration she had gotten from these stories as a child, why not? She could even ignore the irksome fact that August had given her the idea.

Pieces of characters and plots swirled around her in her head. She could see the people that would be there. Snippets of conversations and ideas from long ago now surfaced and began to weave themselves together in the back of her mind. She wasn’t sure where all this was coming from or how it got there or even how any of it related to the rest, but it was there. The onslaught tore through her mind at dizzying speed, each thought coming up with new ideas. More and more. It felt like a burning in her chest, and she was lightheaded like she was high on something.

This was why she loved writing. She remembered that now.

She got out her cell phone to call Mary Margaret to tell her about this idea, but then stopped, a grin spreading on her face. No. She would write this first. As beautiful as it all seemed right now, she didn’t want to ruin her chances by spilling the beans too early. She would go home and write. She’d tell everyone once she had a start.

She hurried home, a secret smile on her face, not even thinking to sneak a glance into the shop on the corner to see if he was still there.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Gold spent most of his evenings in his pawn shop on the corner of Main Street. He had no reason to close up early and head home—there was no one there anyway. So he meticulously dusted and polished the objects in his care, occasionally nursing a drink as he worked.

He was polishing an ornate, square, brass hand-mirror when she walked by that night. He didn’t know much about her, this Lisabelle French. She was a writer and a librarian. Her brown hair curled down her back and she wore skirts and had the loveliest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

And she would always look in the window of his shop.

Gold knew even though she tried to hide it. She’d sneak a glance and then pretend to have never looked at all whenever she walked past on her way to and from the library. But her eyes were always too fixed on the sidewalk in front of her, her gait always too stiff for it to really be believable.

And he would always look back through the window at her.

Her cheeks would redden with a delightful little blush when their eyes met. His lips would quirk up and bit in a half-smile. But then she would force her eyes away and back toward the sidewalk, trying to hide her own smile. If she was carrying a book—she often was—she’d clutch is closer to her chest, as if it would protect her from her own emotion. He would shake his head once she was gone, but he would not completely be able to banish the sight of her from his mind and return to his work.

Those were rare days. Often, their eyes didn’t meet as they snuck glimpses at each other through the pawnshop window.

But tonight her head didn’t even turn in his direction.

She was staring at her feet, trying to manage her heels on the wet pavement. (He had never understood how she could wear those things. Yes, she was a small girl, but the heels seemed an awfully heavy price to pay for a little more height.) Her jacket was pulled tight around her body, but it was no help for her bare legs below the knee-length skirt she wore. Her hair was especially frizzy with the damp, but he found it endearing more than anything else.

Yet all of that paled compared to the expression on her face.

It was like a brilliant light had been lit behind her eyes. Her mouth barely curved up, but Gold could tell it was all she could do to restrain her exuberance. Her lips moved quickly—she was whispering to herself. He could practically hear her mind whirring.

He knew that look.

She had the idea.

It had all begun.


	2. A Land At War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the lands of Anorien or Firthana. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Kate Constable, I'm just borrowing the names.
> 
> Note: "Graeme" and "Graham" are pronounced the same. "Graeme" is just a more archaic spelling.

Belle’s apartment was on the outskirts of Storybrooke. It wasn’t even a proper apartment, really, but a finished two-room basement. The couple “upstairs” didn’t need the extra space and rented it out to Belle for a decent price provided she didn’t try to host wild parties.

The entrance was around back, where there were stairs down to a second patio. Belle let herself in and flipped on the dim light.

The main room of the apartment was lined with bookshelves filled to bursting point. A small table, an over-stuffed and patched sofa, and a desk were squished in where there was space. There was a small hallway in the back that led to a kitchen area and the stairs up to the main house. Two doors led off the room: one to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom.

Sitting down at the desk, Belle opened her laptop, humming mindlessly as the machine woke. Despite the caffeine from her tea, her eyes were heavy. But she could not sleep yet. Not with these words filling her mind and clawing at her fingertips in their need to be released.

The new document came up on the screen. Belle sighed and sat back in her seat. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a second, and then she began to type…

 

* * *

 

Prologue: Princess Snow White

Once upon a time there lived a princess. Her name was Snow White. She had hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow.

And she was a child of war.

The Fourth Ogre War had been raging since before she was born. Her earliest memories were of the commissioning and the funerals of soldiers. From early childhood, she was taught strategy and troop direction. She was assigned to learn from the kingdom’s finest sword-masters and bowmen. All the while she was instructed carefully in decorum, music, and penmanship.

Life wasn’t easy for her. Her home was always on the move, her adopted sister tried to kill her, battles raged over her lands and killed her people. She found siblings and friends in the unlikeliest of places and buried both her parents. But she eventually found her happy ending.

His name was Prince James—or, as she called him, Charming. He was the son of King George of the neighboring kingdom of Firthana and her father’s ally in the Ogre War. They had married young and spent all their years together fighting beside one another against their enemy under his father’s direction.

Snow White and Prince Charming had their happily ever after, but their story had barely begun.

 

Chapter One—

 

* * *

_“I’m in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts. ‘Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind—I’m already cursed.”_

Belle was jerked out of the story by her cell phone. The word _Dad_ flashed across the screen at her. She picked it up and grinned.

“Hey Dad,” she said, pinning the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she got up. She vaguely wondered if she had anything to eat. Iced tea was not a proper dinner by any means.

“Lizzy, how are you?” Her father sounded his usual gruff, but cheerful self. Even though he ran a flower shop there in town, Belle didn’t see him often.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m working on a new story.” Her fridge was looking depressingly empty. There was a jar of pickles. And some soda. She really needed to do some shopping.

“That sounds great, Lizzy darling. Are you still working at the library?”

Belle sighed. She loved her dad, but he didn’t try very hard to understand her. He had never approved of her passion for writing or her job as a librarian. Sure, he wanted her to succeed, but to Belle that didn’t mean she had to go to a fancy college she couldn’t pay for to get a fancy job she didn’t want. And he still called her Lizzy. She hated that. It was Belle. Or Lacey, but only her mother had called her that. “Lacey” and “Lizzy” were two very different names: acceptable and unacceptable.

“Yes, Dad. It’s going well. We have a new children’s story time,” she said. He wouldn’t be interested in any of this, but Belle was going to tell him anyway. Maybe he’d take a hint that she was happy. “I’m reading them _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_.”

“That sounds wonderful, honey.”

Belle seized the jar of peanut butter she found in the back of the cupboard. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. “Listen, Dad, I was in the middle of some work, so is there a reason you called…?”

“I was just checking up on you. I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy. I’m sorry.”

“Geoffrey Stoddard was asking about you the other day.”

Belle suppressed a groan. That idiot had been after her since high school and didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “no”. And sadly, her father didn’t seem to understand that she just wasn’t interested.

 “Well you can tell him to get lost,” she said. “I’m tired of telling him no.”

“Lizzy, he’s a nice man. He’d be good for you. Just give him a chance—“

“Dad. No. I’m not going to discuss this again.”

“Lizzy.”

“You know what? I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up before he could respond and turned her phone to silent. Frustration boiled her chest. This night had been going so well. She took a spoonful of peanut butter and licked it like an ice cream cone while she concentrated on calming down. Writing angry was a surefire way to ruin an idea.

Soon both the peanut butter and her anger were mostly gone. Belle sat back at her computer, trying to regain the excitement and inspiration that had been dashed by her father’s phone call.

 

* * *

 

The Castle was the stronghold of the Enchanted Forest. In all the years of war, the ogres had never even come close to its walls. From its great hall, King George directed every movement of every battalion in the armies of the Enchanted Forest. It towered over the trees, visible for miles off from its place on an outcropping in the sea. And to Snow White, it was home.

They had just come out of the forest as she came up beside her husband and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it gently, not saying a word, but betraying his nerves to her all the same. They were all exhausted, it was too difficult to stay completely in control. And Snow could read him better than anyone.

Two days before, they had received a message from the King, asking for his son’s scouting company to return to the Castle with all haste. No reason or explanation was given, leaving them to assume the worst. They hadn’t been too far, only in the uncharted west-lands, trying to spy on the ogres’ camps down there. It had been two long days on foot to return home, but the unexpected message had been enough cause for alarm to make them hurry. The Castle in front of them only made everything seem so much more real. It was easy to forget the rest of the politics of war when they were out on a mission, just them and their five best warriors and the forest. And the enemy.

“We’ll be alright,” Snow whispered. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Together.”

Charming smiled a bit and raised their joined hands to kiss her palm. “Thank you.”

Snow could hear soft giggles from behind her at Charming’s display of affection. Of course Red and Belle were listening in to everything they said. The two girls might be her best friends, but they could also be annoying whenever they wished.

Snow and Red had been friends since childhood, even though there were miles of class distance between them. Though she was born the daughter of a blacksmith in a small village, Red’s “talent” had landed her the coveted position in the Prince’s elite company. She was an excellent tracker and fighter without the power of the wolf within her and nearly unstoppable with it.

Belle was the princess of the small kingdom of Avonlea, which had fallen years before to the ogre masses. She seemed diminutive and bookish at first, but her innocent façade hid a fierce swordsman and a brilliant strategist beneath. She was not a woman to be underestimated, though so many did.

Snow looked back over her shoulder and mock-glared at her friends. Red waved cheekily back though Belle had the decency to look abashed.

“Don’t you have a sweetheart of your own to walk with, Belle?” Snow asked. A light blush grew on Belle’s cheeks as she let go of Red’s arm with a smile. Red grinned and pushed Belle back towards her sweetheart, the Huntsman of Anorien, who walked alone in front of the last two members of their company.

Graeme was easily both the best tracker and warrior in the Enchanted Forest. He had been raised by wolves, but had become like a brother to Snow White and agreed to join their ranks to protect her. He and Belle had fallen in love in their early adolescence. Snow thought they were a sweet couple. Her best friend and her all-but brother.

“You know,” Charming leaned down to whisper in Snow’s ear, “Every day I am more and more grateful your Huntsman is smitten with Belle.”

“Oh?” Snow said casually.

“Yes. The more he’s thinking about her, the less he’s thinking up creative ways to murder me for doing _this_.” He leaned down a pressed a soft kiss to his wife’s lips.

Snow laughed lightly. Graeme had embraced the protective side of brotherhood eagerly. He had been quite wary of Charming in the beginning, but had warmed up to him after he saw that if anyone was going to take care of Snow White besides himself, it would be Prince James of Firthana. Still, he enjoyed creatively threatening Charming with bodily harm at every opportunity.

Soon enough, they crossed the drawbridge from the forest into the town around the Castle. The guards at the gate saluted Charming and Snow, who returned the gesture. They entered the city with its hustle and bustle—even if a state of war, business carried on.

The crowds of people and soldiers parted to let their Prince and his company through as they entered the Castle courtyard. Prince James was the hero of the war, beloved of all the people. His princess was beautiful and strong, loved as well. The five warriors following them were the strongest and bravest of them all.

Snow acknowledged their cheers and bows with a smile and small nods, holding her husband’s hand in her left and waving with her right. True, they were no celebrity show, but the people had so little hope that Snow couldn’t just march through with her head held high and straight ahead. The sight of them returning from war—even if it was only a reconnaissance mission—without major wounds to show for it was reassuring. A smile in the face of it worked magic.

A page met them at the entrance to the great hall with a bow. “Your Highnesses, the King wishes to speak with you in his private office. If you will accompany me…”

“There is no need,” Charming said, his voice now strong and disguising any trepidation he felt at the mention of a private meeting. “We know our way. Please see to it that my men are settled in their usual rooms.”

The page bowed and murmured that he would be glad to do so as Snow and Charming continued up to the King’s private rooms. Outside the door to the office, Snow kissed Charming’s cheek for encouragement. The doors opened, and the couple stepped inside.

King George was a hard man, a hard king, and most of all, a hard father. Charming’s hand was cold in hers as he and Snow came to stand in front of the great desk.

 The King himself was standing with his back to them, staring out the window at the great expanse of the Enchanted Forest.

“You wanted to see me, Father?” Charming said, not letting a hint of nerves into his voice. Weakness was never something one could afford to show in front of King George, even if one happened to be the King’s son.

“James,” the King said coldly. “You have taken your time returning home.”

Snow bristled at the disapproval in her father-in-law’s tone. They had done the best they could! How dare he suggest otherwise—Her thoughts were cut off when Charming squeezed her hand. Losing her temper wouldn’t win them any favors.

“I came as quickly as I could after receiving your message,” Charming said. His emotionless words made no attempt to plead or apologize.

The King turned to fix his son with a piercing gaze. Charming refused to flinch, which seemed to pass his father’s examination. “Snow White,” the King said, turning from his son. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Just as always, Your Majesty,” Snow said, trying not to let irritation lace her voice. King George had never approved of her. He had wanted his son to marry King Midas’ daughter, Abigail, but couldn’t truly object to Snow’s status when her father approached him with the tale of their children’s love.

“What is all this about, Father?” Charming asked. “Your message gave no details.”

The King motioned for them to sit in the chairs opposite the desk. “For many years, James, I have given you considerable freedom. You have been allowed to choose your bride, your soldiers, and your missions. And I have been pleased with you, for the most part. You are a hero and a worthy Prince.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“But your time as a Prince is drawing to a close. I am growing old, my son. Soon, I will pass the crown on to you. And when that day comes, you must be ready for it.”

Snow could almost see her husband’s happiness from his father’s praise fade away at the foreboding in the King’s words. “Yes, Father,” he said.

“You will go on one last mission. Then you will return home and your training will begin. You leave in the morning.”

“Father—“

“Your wife will stay as well. You will use this mission to choose your successor as leader of your company. Lady Regina of Eareamath or Princess Belle of Avonlea should do nicely.”

“Father—“

“Please inform your company of this tonight. I want you to leave in the morning. See if you can find the band of ogres that has been terrorizing the villages along the northern border and take them out.”

“Father!”

King George looked up from his desk in surprise. It was almost as if he had forgotten he actually had a son and was talking to him.

“I cannot do this,” Charming said. “I cannot leave the front. We are short of men as it is. I cannot sit back at my Castle while my people are dying in war. I must be out there with them.”

“You have fought on the front for years. Now you must learn your role as prince. You will be no use to these men in the future if you do not learn to be King now. There will be no compromise. Go. Tell your company.”

Charming opened his mouth to argue, Snow laid a hand on her husband’s arm. As much as they both wanted to rant and rave at his father, she knew it would only make the King less willing to be reasonable later. They would want his good will when they returned, so now was not the time to lose it.

“Of course, _Father_ ,” Charming said bitterly, standing and giving a short, stiff bow. Snow plastered a smile on her face and gave the King the best curtsy she could manage in pants before following Charming out of the room.

Charming waited until they were in their rooms before letting his emotions loose. His fist hit the wall with a sickening crunch, his knuckles splitting and blood staining the stone wall scarlet.

 

* * *

 

Belle came out of her washroom to find Graeme stretched out on her couch. He was still wearing his long hunting cloak and his boots, obviously too sacked out to remove them after weeks on alert for ogres. He didn’t sleep well out there. He was a natural hunter and being the hunted instead made him nervous.

“Comfortable there?” she asked lightly, pulling her towel up to preserve her modesty as she took a blue day dress from her wardrobe.

“Very,” Graeme murmured sleepily, opening one eye to look her over.

Belle giggled and ducked behind the screen in the corner so she could dress privately. “You do have your own room and bed, you know.”

Graeme groaned in response, closing his eyes so he could go back to sleep. Belle knew he hated his rooms. He had been raised in the wild forests. The enclosed luxuries that had been given to him as Snow White’s adopted brother were prison chains to him. As far as Belle knew, he had never actually slept in those rooms. He was much more at ease dozing in her or Snow’s antechamber as a guard, whether or not his presence was needed or desired.

Once she was dressed, Belle came out and knelt by her sweetheart’s side. Slowly, so as not to wake him too early, she reached over to kiss his sleeping lips. He looked so young and peaceful in his sleep. The hard lines and care that usually characterized his face softened, taking away the rough ferocity of the Huntsman and leaving behind Graeme, the boy she fell in love with and the man he had become.

His sleeping face twitched at the touch of her lips. Smirking, she kissed him again, slowly and deeply. She didn’t really realize he was completely awake and kissing her back until he sat up enough to lift her up onto his lap, never breaking the kiss.

“You awake yet?” she whispered between kisses.

“Not quite.”

Belle grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands were in her hair, which was still wet from the bath. He continued to kiss her over and over, sweet touches filled with every ounce of his affection for her. They had been together for years and still she could never tire of the delightful taste of him or the feel on his lips over hers.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Belle and Graeme sprang apart. Belle’s face turned red and she combed out her mussed curls with her fingers. “Come in!” she said as brightly as she could.

A page came in and bowed—even if her kingdom, her Avonlea, had been in ashes for years, she was still a princess. The boy looked rather uncomfortable, obviously guessing what he had interrupted. “Prince James and Princess Snow have requested the two of you to join them in their rooms.”

 

* * *

 

By the next evening when Belle stopped by at the diner, Ruby had collected everything there was to know about Graham Conor Blanchard.

Apparently, he was six feet tall (exactly), studied at the Boston Police Academy after getting an English degree from the University of Maine at Presque Isle, played Bon Jovi in the squad car when no one was around (Belle had to wonder how Ruby knew this if _no one was around_ ), only left Boston recently because of a bad breakup with the girl he had been dating, played in a band in college, and had a secret love for pixie sticks.

Belle was sure Ruby could keep going on, but she held up a hand for her friend to stop. Ruby was technically still working and Granny would get mad if she caught her standing around exchanging gossip with Belle over the counter.

“Wait,” she said. “You found all of this out in the past twenty-four hours?”

Ruby bit her lip in a sheepish grin. “Yeah?”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say. This far surpassed Ruby’s usual standard for gossip. But, at the same time, Belle found herself wondering why she was surprised. She began to laugh.

“Come on,” Ruby said. “Don’t deny it. You think he’s just as hot as I do.”

Belle giggled and refused to meet Ruby’s eye. She really didn’t want to discuss her instant attraction to the handsome sheriff. She traced an old stain on the counter with her fingertip.

“You do!” Ruby gasped. “I knew it. Well?”

Belle uselessly tried to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. “I suppose he’s quite handsome.”

Ruby grinned. Belle knew admitting would end like this. She hadn’t ever admitted to actually thinking someone was attractive before. She’d always been more caught up with the heroes in her books than real men. Only on her way to and from work did she ever allow the thought that she might be interested in someone cross her mind. Until last night, that is.

“I don’t even want to know where you got all that information, by the way,” Belle said, shaking her head at Ruby and hoping her friend would allow her to change the conversation.

“Regina—“ Ruby started.

“Now I really don’t want to know,” Belle interrupted. She leaned on the counter to take some of the weight off her feet. These heels were killing her. “Look, I want to try to write a bit tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Do you have an idea?” Ruby asked.

Belle shook her head. “No. I’m just going to see if something comes to me.”

“Well, good luck then.”

Belle gave Ruby a tight smile and headed out of the diner, another iced tea in her hand. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to tell her friend about the idea she had. Maybe it was because August practically gave it to her, maybe it was something else. She just felt the need to keep it inside her, close to her heart. It was as if telling someone would break the spell it had on her and it would fly out of her head. But it couldn’t be that. Of course not. Because that would be ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

“He did _what?”_

If Charming’s announcement hadn’t been of such a grave nature, Belle might have laughed at Red’s outraged cry.

It had seemed routine when Charming had asked them all to come to his and Snow’s private drawing room. They would often meet there after a mission to debrief and get any further instructions. Even more, they were all best friends. It was completely normal to spend an evening talking and laughing up in the private chambers, away from the politics downstairs.

Until Charming recounted his conversation with his father. Then it hadn’t been so routine anymore.

“He can’t just do this, can he?” Belle asked. “We’ve only just returned. Don’t we have at least a week before he can send us out again?”

Charming sighed and sat down on the arm of Snow’s chair. He looked despairingly around at his friends seated around the room. “He’s the King. He can do whatever he wishes.”

Belle laced her fingers through Graeme's. This was to be Charming’s last mission. They had hoped for some time at the Castle before heading out again. The mission they had returned from had been simple in theory, but their path had been a grueling trek through the mountains. The prospect of a proper meal and warm bed had been a welcome one even for Graeme.

Everyone exchanged worried looks. This was unexpected. It was unlike the King to play outside his own rules. This could not bode well for any of them. Snow and Charming were obviously trying to stay strong for them—Red looked close to tears. Graeme’s hand was tight around Belle’s. Even Lady Regina looked solemn.

With a small cough, the last member of their company stepped out of his corner.

“I don’t mean to interrupt such a serious moment, but does this mean the King intends to send all of us out on our merry ways after this as well?”

Belle tried not to show how impressed she was with him for asking a serious question for once. He—Killian Jones, notorious unwillingly-reformed pirate, most commonly known by his more colorful moniker: “Hook”—was rarely serious. Belle had wondered why Charming recruited him in the first place for a while. Then she had seen him use a sword. He was a master—an artist

“No. It does not,” Charming said. “Snow and I will be required to stay, but the rest of you will continue on. That’s part of the reason the King is giving us this last mission.”

“And how is that?” Regina asked, ever the impatient one.

“The King wants me to choose who will my successor as leader of this company. This mission is to be a test as well.”

“So any of us can be chosen?” Graeme obviously did not want it to be him. He was only reluctantly part of this in the first place; he had no desire to lead it.

“His Majesty has made it clear that he will only accept either Lady Regina or Princess Belle,” Snow said. Her irritation at the King laced her tone. Belle had always pitied her friend’s relationship with her father-in-law. The two were always at odds about something with poor Charming stuck in the middle.

Belle nearly laughed at the obvious relief etched on the faces of Graeme, Hook, and Red, but then she caught sight of the hungry glint in Regina’s eye. The other girl wanted this. Badly.

Belle, Snow, and Regina had grown up in the same castle after Belle and Regina were forced out of their own lands. Belle had seen firsthand Regina’s vicious competitive streak. They had still been young girls when she had tried to kill Snow over a boy. After Daniel had died in her misplaced attack, Regina had never been quite the same. But she was one of the few skilled sorceresses in the kingdom, so she was part of their company. Belle’s eyes met Snow’s across the room. Snow had seen it too. They were both thinking the same thing:

Regina was determined to win. Either way it ended, it wouldn’t be good for Belle.


	3. A One-Handed Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is not mine. It was written years ago by my beta, elli.O., for this story. The first verse is here in this chapter, but it was originally meant for someone we won't meet for another few chapters. She gets all the credit for its awesomeness though. :)

Prince Charming and Snow White's chambers emptied slowly. There was limited time before their return banquet that evening. A few hours of sleep would make all the difference between a pleasant time and a miserable one. Before Graeme could escape back to Belle's rooms with her, Charming motioned for him to stay.

"Is there something more?" the Huntsman asked.

"No," Charming said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I just thought I'd mention that the King is in a rather good mood right now. We're leaving in the morning, so if you intend to… make your request before then, now would be a good time."

"Why would he be in a good mood?"

Snow laughed darkly. "Because he likes winning."

 

* * *

 

 

The soft ding of the bell rang through the library. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on the dust particles that lazily floated through the air. Belle set the books she'd been shelving back on the cart and smoothed down her skirt before heading out to the lobby. She smiled when she found Mary Margaret leaning against the circulation desk.

"What are you doing back here?" she asked, reaching over the books on the desk to unlock the computer. She glanced over the scene she'd been writing and switched it back to the proper library screen before Mary Margaret could see her idea. "Did one of the children leave something here again?" She fished in her dress pocket for the ring of library keys. "I can unlock the story-time room."

"Not this time," Mary Margaret said. "I just wanted you to know that Ruby called me earlier today."

Belle grinned. "And?"

"Apparently she was talking to my brother last night and convinced him to come to that thing at Granny's tonight," she said, shaking her head in exasperation her their friend.

"When did this happen? And what thing at Granny's?" Belle usually tried to stay on top of this sort of thing. Ruby always made sure to tell her about events at the diner that she and Mary Margaret were expected to attend as Ruby's friends. But the last few days had been consumed with her story, not her expected social life.

"They've got live music. Apparently most of the town going to show up and make an event of it," Mary Margaret said. "Graham apparently came in during his break for coffee last night and Ruby told him he needed to come. Then she called me and told me to bring you."

"Is she trying to set me up with him?" Belle asked. She closed up the files on the computer and shut the machine down for the night. "I thought _she_ was into him."

"I think she just wants a partner in crime." Mary Margaret fixed Belle with a piercing look. It was the sort of look she probably gave her students after they started painting on the tables. "And really, what were you planning to do with your Friday night?"

Belle shrugged. "Probably go home and write. Maybe watch something."

"You could use a night out. It will be fun."

"Our sort of fun, or Ruby's sort of fun?" Belle asked. She gathered her jacket and bag from under the desk.

"Ruby's, of course. But that's why we're friends with her, right?"

That was a point there, for certain. Ruby's sort of fun was usually too public and extroverted for Belle's taste and made her wish that she'd stayed at home with her books instead. Even so, some of her best memories were only because Ruby had dragged them out for an evening.

Granny's was full to the brim. There were people at every table and Belle was sure there was some rule against having four on a bench meant for two. Ruby met her and Mary Margaret at the door. "Good, you're here. I was having trouble saving you two a seat."

By 'seat' it turned out that Ruby meant a small table right next to the little stage that had been set up. There were only two seats there and it was close enough that any conversation from that little table was in danger of being picked up by the microphone—probably why no one else had sat there. Belle sat down, looking around for Mary Margaret.

"David's over by the door," Ruby said to explain their friend's sudden disappearance. Belle nodded. Of course. David Nolan was Mary Margaret's fiancé. He worked at the local animal shelter and was an all-around nice guy. He and Mary Margaret were the town's favorite couple, it seemed. Everyone wanted them together, except David's father. Albert Nolan made it no secret that he disapproved of his son's choice in bride although he couldn't do anything to change it.

"Are you going to sit with me?" Belle asked.

"As soon as my shift's over," Ruby said. "I've got just less than an hour left." She straightened. "Can I get you anything?"

Belle smiled despite her disappointment. So much for a fun night with friends. Mary Margaret was love-struck and Ruby was working. And it seemed that Graham hadn't shown after all. Maybe there had been some emergency down at the station. Belle tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed, but it didn't change her feelings. "I'll have… I don't know. Some soup? It's cold out there."

Ruby nodded and scurried off to place the order and take care of the multitudes of other customers. Belle sighed and pulled a notebook out of her bag. If she was going to spend the evening at a table by herself, she might as well get some writing done. _Graeme caught up with Belle just down the hall—_

But a moment later—because her name was Belle French and this was just how life _happened_ —someone sat down across from her.

"Get stood up, did we, lass?" a man asked in a distinctive Irish accent.

"Hello Killian," Belle said, looking up from her notebook with a smile. Killian Jones was always a friendly face. He dropped by the library several times a week to say hello or hack the WiFi. He worked down at the fishing docks during the days and tried to get gigs playing guitar around town at night. "And no. Not unless you count abandonment by friends as being stood up."

He laughed. "Not exactly."

"Yeah, well they dragged me here only to go off and do their own thing. Are you playing tonight?"

"Who else would they hire?" he asked. "I'm Killian Jones. I could play guitar one-handed if I wanted to."

"Keep saying that and one day they'll make you," Belle said, rolling her eyes.

"And I'd shock them all with how wonderful it would be. Now, I have to get up and play in a second here. Are you going to be alright on your own?"

"Thanks, but yeah. I've got my notebook. And I'll be watching you."

Killian smirked and raised his eyebrows a bit. "I'm sure you will be, darling." He stood and jumped up onto the stage. The crowd in the diner cheered. Killian was no master at guitar, but he was pleasant to listen to and always managed to learn enough of the most popular songs to keep people interested.

Once everyone had quieted, Killian smiled and spoke into the microphone, "Good evening to you all. As you know, I'm Killian Jones and Granny's threatened me enough to show up tonight"—he broke off to allow for laughter—"so I'm going to play a bit for you. This first song is one of my originals called 'Worlds Away'. Tonight, I'm dedicating it to the lovely Belle French down here in front of me." He winked at Belle, who willed herself not to blush at the attention. "This is for you darling.

" _There's a land up in the sky,_

_It_ _'s owned by the stars and the birds passing by._

_And I want to go there, but try as I might,_

_It_ _'s too far away._ "

Belle hid her grin by leaning back down over her notebook, mouthing the words as Killian sang them. She'd heard this particular song often enough to know them all by heart. It was a favorite of the crowd at Granny's. Killian played it whenever he came. Letting the music wash over her, Belle slid back into her story.

 

* * *

 

The sound of Graeme's fist against the door to King George's study was a hollow one. It was an empty, foreboding sound. The sort of sound that made Belle grasp Graeme's warm hand in hers and want to shrink back into the shadows. But this might be their best chance with the King, so she squared her shoulders and waited for the door to open. Like her mother had told her: do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

"It's going to be alright," Graeme whispered. "Charming said he would be in a good mood."

Belle nodded just as the doors opened. She and Graeme walked in and came to stand in front of King George's desk. Belle had always been rather intimidated by King George. Her father, King Maurice of Avonlea, had been a kind and rather whimsical man. He had been killed in one of the early battles to defend their lands. All of Belle's early memories of his were warm and happy ones, full of laughter. After her father died, she had lived at the court of King Leopold until his death. King Leopold had been a gentle and benevolent ruler. He had managed war skillfully, but not without regret for the lives lost. King George… he was nothing like these other kings. He was ruthless and determined. And frightening, very frightening.

"Princess Belle, Huntsman," the King said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Your Majesty," Graeme said. He stood tall and confident, holding Belle's hand gently, as something precious. "For years I have served you and your court. I have found a home here that I have… been unable to find elsewhere. Your kindness to my sister and I has been more than I could have hoped for. And now I find myself with one request: to ask for your permission to marry my True Love, Belle of Avonlea."

Belle squeezed Graeme's hand. He was not a man of words and didn't directly address those who were not close friends without significant reason to. She suspected that he had prepared that speech weeks in advance.

Slowly, King George walked around the desk. He took one of Belle's hands in both of his. Her heart swelled. With his blessing, they could be married the day of their return from this mission. It was all she had dreamed of. She had loved Graeme for years. Life without him by her side wasn't something she could even begin to consider.

King George looked from Belle to Graeme. "This request has put me in rather a tight position," he said.

"How so?" Belle asked. Her heart was sinking. Quickly.

"I cannot allow this engagement because, Huntsman, you are already engaged to another woman."

"What?" Belle said, the word slipping through her lips not as a question, but an expression of pure disbelief. Had he known? What was going on here? She and Graeme had been together for nearly a decade, since they were still children really.

"Huntsman, you are one of the finest warriors in the realms. But you have no station or title. Your lack of position makes it difficult for you to wed a princess without the further complications."

"What 'further complications', Your Majesty?" Graeme asked. Belle relaxed in relief. He hadn't known about this. This was all King George's doing, not her sweetheart's.

"Politics," King George said. "Firthana is divided into factions, each of whom want their own warriors to win. The former Avonlea is one of such. To allow our greatest warrior to marry into one of those factions would create an imbalance of power. We cannot cause internal strife if we mean to win this war. And there is the issue of the young lady you are now promised to."

"Who is it?" Graeme demanded. "You can tell me that at least."

"Watch your tongue, boy. No matter how angry you may be, it will serve you well to remember that I am your King."

"Apologies, Your Majesty."

"You will learn her name at the banquet tonight, where the engagement will be made official," King George said, moving back around the desk. "The young lady you are to wed has previously been promised to another young man. It has recently come to my attention that he is guilty of several crimes against the Kingdom of Firthana. He will be banished in a few day's time. The young lady is promised to you, both as a sign of good faith among the people of the realms and a method of keeping her from any rash action on the behalf of her former fiancé."

"And she is not of one of the factions?" Belle asked.

"No. Her family is neutral."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Graeme asked. Belle knew him well enough to pick up on the hint of desperation in his tone.

"No. Your engagement will be announced tonight and celebrated formally upon your return from your mission." The King sighed. "It is nothing personal. It's politics. I don't do this out of spite or arbitrary desire to cause pain. This is how we're going to win the war."

 

* * *

 

Belle was pulled out of her story by the sound of Ruby's raised voice. It had been a while she was lost in her imagination, it seemed, as there were significantly less people listening to Killian play now.

"Give us a chance, Granny! We won't know if we don't try!"

"I know now. It won't work. Now stop this silly delusion and get back to work," Granny snapped. Belle had always found the diner's owner rather intimidating. She certainly looked it now with her hand on her hips, glaring at Ruby.

Ruby glared right back. Beside her, Archie Hopper put an arm around her waist. "With all due respect, Mrs. Lucas, I have no untoward intentions about your granddaughter—"

"Be as it may, Dr. Hopper," Granny said, "you're too old for Ruby. Stay away from her."

"I'm a grown woman!" Ruby snapped. "You can't decide who I see and who I don't see."

"If you're so grown up, then why don't you act like it? I've had enough of this. I hope you can respect my wishes, Dr. Hopper." Granny turned and headed back into the kitchens.

Ruby glared hard at Archie. "Lot of help you were."

"I'm sorry, Ruby. But I've been hesitant about this from the start—"

"Stop. I'm done," Ruby said before sighed and stalking away. Archie stood there, looking helplessly after her. Belle felt rather sorry for him. He didn't ask to be pulled into the never-ending fight between Ruby and Granny. Fortunately when Belle looked around, it seemed that most people had decided to politely ignore the argument. Or maybe that was just because Killian had started playing a rather lively rendition of "Spanish Ladies" to drown it out.

Pulling off her apron roughly, Ruby plopped down in the chair across from Belle. She was still fuming and her arms were crossed over her chest. Belle calmly took a bite of her soup and closed her notebook. "Do you want to talk?"

Ruby shook her head. "I thought he would… never mind. Can you just distract me? What are you writing about?"

Belle hesitated. She didn't usually like to tell people about her stories, not even her best friends. So many of them failed before they were properly started. But there was something about this one. She felt like there was a small flame burning within her all the time. It kept her going and believing this could actually happen. It was a reserve of words, just begging to burst forth onto the page. This was the idea. It could happen.

"It's a variation on _Snow White_ ," she said.

Ruby's expression darkened as she glanced over Belle's shoulder. Belle turned to see Graham entering the diner, Regina a step behind him. She followed him to a seat at the counter, talking with him the whole way. She was working hard to keep his whole attention—Belle was sure her uniform top was supposed to cover more than that. Still, his eyes roamed around the diner and he only gave her few-word responses.

"There goes two prospective dates in ten minutes," Ruby grumbled. "That harpy's not going to let anyone else within ten feet of the poor man all night. And I was so excited when Archie asked me. Then Granny had to go an shoot that one down."

"I'm sorry," Belle said for lack of anything more meaningful to say.

"Yeah…What were you saying about Snow White?"

"My story's loosely based on it," Belle said. "Instead of the Evil Queen as Snow White's stepmother, she's her stepsister."

"So evil stepsister—like in Cinderella?"

"Yeah." Belle was surprised that Ruby was actually listening. She hadn't thought Ruby would get so cut up over Archie that she'd listen to story ideas. Her writing was usually regarded with something of a slightly amused toleration by her friends and family. Mary Margaret and Ruby were supportive, yes, but not typically enthusiastic.

"Okay. What else?"

"Do you remember that idea I had a few years back about the army of fairy tale characters?" Belle asked.

Ruby nodded. "It didn't really have much else but that if I remember."

"Well now Snow White and her stepsister are part of a scouting company in that setting. They've got Prince Charming, Rose Red—who might also be Little Red Riding Hood, I'm not sure—Captain Hook, the Huntsman from 'Snow White', and the Beauty from 'Beauty and the Beast'."

"Whose Prince Charming is it?" Ruby asked.

"Snow White's, of course," Belle said. "So the Evil Queen is out to kill Snow White, but it's different that the original. She's actually jealous of Rose Red and the Beauty and wants to get revenge on them by hurting their friend."

"Sounds good to me," Ruby said. She looked over her shoulder to see Granny glaring in their direction. "I'd better get back to work. Granny looks ready to skin me alive. Good luck with your writing."

"Thanks," Belle said sadly as Ruby left her. Mary Margaret was still sitting with David, so Belle opened her notebook again. She wasn't sure what to do next. Something belonged between now and the banquet, but what could it be? She started to doodle in the margins of her notebook, listening to Killian sing about a knight who was trying to slay a rather snarky dragon. Her doodle turned into a dragon with a bit of a weight problem, but it had started as a scribble, so Belle thought it was pretty good.

"Belle, isn't it?" a low voice asked. Belle looked up to see Graham standing next to her table. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but can I sit here?"

"Yeah," Belle said, a little dazed. Her heart was racing. Here was the mind-blowingly handsome object of her recent affection and he was asking to sit with her. Not even to mention Regina's surprising absence. "How—how do you know my name?" she blurted stupidly.

Graham sat across from her in Ruby's vacant seat. "Believe it or not, but you don't look that unrecognizable from fifteen years ago. And you and Ruby are in every picture Mary sends me." Mary. Belle supposed only he called her that. To everyone else she was strictly "Mary Margaret". It seemed every rule had an exception for one person.

"Of course," Belle said. "What happened to Regina? I thought I saw you together."

"Oh, we're not together," Graham said. "She might think otherwise, but honestly, I'm trying to escape while she's in the restroom. She's… she's…"

"Possessive? Frightening? Overbearing?" Belle suggested. She was surprised she was able to form coherent sentences with him right there. It was unlike her, but his presence seemed to send her head on vacation.

"Yes, that." He ran his fingers over the mug of coffee he'd brought with him.

"I spent thirteen years in school with Regina Mills and then fifteen in the same town. I know all about how scary she can get," Belle said. Regina had always hated her, Mary Margaret, and Ruby. There had never been a discernible reason for it, it just was. Regina's mother, Mayor Cora Mills, had always made sure her daughter wanted for nothing. Every whim was granted. Belle was surprised she had been able to get a job. Regina could have easily gotten her mother to bar that.

"Well I work with her," Graham said.

"You have our sympathy."

At that moment, Regina returned to the main room of the diner. She saw Graham sitting with Belle and an ugly scowl came over her face. Belle nearly flinched. She was in for it now. If Regina thought she was a rival things would get messy. Regina stalked past and out the diner's door. Graham sighed in relief once she was gone.

"Thank goodness she's gone." He stood. "I should go then. Sorry to interrupt your evening."

"It's fine," Belle said. _More than fine, absolutely excellent, please sit with me again—shut_ up _brain!_ she thought. She took a deep breath to get a grip on herself before speaking again. "I wasn't getting much done. I'm on my way out anyway."

"Then allow me to walk you home," Graham said.

"I couldn't—"

"It's a small town. It can't be that far out of my way. Think of it as payment for rescuing me from Regina."

"Alright then," Belle said. She gathered her things as calmly as she could and followed him out the door. Her stomach felt like several intricate knots had been tied in it. She didn't know it could be this nerve-wracking just to walk down the street with someone.

They walked in silence for a time. Belle concentrated on making sure she didn't trip over her feet or do anything else mortifying. Her bag was heavy from all the books and notebooks crammed inside, making her a little less balanced than usual. It was quiet on the streets—the nightlife in Storybrooke was pretty much limited to wherever Killian was playing.

Belle found herself watching Graham out of the corner of her eye. He was still in his uniform. His hair was sticking up a bit in the back like he'd been resting his head against a wall for a time. He walked with an easy gait, but it was slowed to accommodate her heels and much shorter legs. He walked with his hands in his pants pockets, but the thumbs sticking out.

They came to the end of Main Street, passing Mr. Gold's pawn shop. By habit, Belle looked in the window, catching a glimpse of the owner behind the desk. He was looking down, his long hair falling in his eyes, as he bent over the book he was writing in. A small smile twitched at the corners of Belle's lips. His whole-hearted focus in everything he did was endearing. The light inside the pawn shop was a dim, but warm yellow color.

"What are you looking at?" Graham asked. Belle realized she'd stopped to look longer.

"Nothing," she said. She glanced at Mr. Gold again through the window. He was still absorbed in his bookkeeping. "Sometimes I like to look in the windows. There are always interesting things in that shop."

"We could go inside," Graham offered. "Then you'd be able to see properly."

"Oh no," Belle said. "I never go inside. I just like to take a glance." She wasn't sure her nerves could take being near Mr. Gold and Graham at the same time. One was difficult enough. "My apartment isn't much further, just down that way."

"Right," Graham said.

They walked the rest of the way quickly. Belle was glad to have someone with her. She wasn't usually out this late. Walking home alone in the dark would have been disconcerting. She wasn't particularly afraid of the dark, just uneasy in it. Ruby would say she read too many horror novels. They came to the door of her basement and she pulled out her key.

"Well, this is it," she said. "Thank you for walking me home."

"Thank you for rescuing me from my secretary."

"Anytime," Belle said. She unlocked the door and entered, turning back to watch Graham walk back up the path until he was out of sight.

 

* * *

 

Captain Hook followed Lady Regina out of the prince's chambers. She had worked herself up into some sort of fit and he rather wanted to be around to see it break forth. He didn't particularly like Regina—did anyone?—but Lady Red was the only one besides Regina not with their spouse or soon-to-be spouse. Red had said something about a nap before the banquet so that left Hook with one option for a companion.

Regina didn't acknowledge his presence behind her as she stalked down to the library. Usually the library was Princess Belle's terrain and Regina avoided it at all costs, but Belle was… otherwise occupied at the moment. Hook had to have some respect for the Huntsman for winning her heart. She had the beauty she was named for. Actually, all the women in the prince's company were exceptionally beautiful, each in their own way. Even the raging warhead in front of him had held an elegant, dangerous attraction over him. And Regina fortunately had no vengeful man around to skewer him for enjoying the view.

The library was magnificent. The ceilings towered twenty feet above Hook's head and the bookcases stood just as high. On one side there were tall windows between the shelves. Display cases were full of rare objects and old pieces of art. Tables were spread out between the shelves for the use of the library's few guests, but most of them were covered in the books that didn't yet have a place on the shelves. King George's librarian had died years ago, so the task of cataloging the additions to the collection was put on hold. Princess Belle was the only one who really came in here and would sometimes try to make a dent in the un-filed books, but it barely made a difference. They were gone too often and every time the ogres advanced, someone brought their books to donate before the ogres could burn them. It was a losing battle.

The books on magic were kept in the farthest corner of the library. There were no windows there, only shadows and the quiet whisperings of the spells that weren't entirely stuck down to their pages. Hook had always found that rather disconcerting, but the chance to needle Regina was tempting enough to make him suffer through a few creepy books.

"Something troubling you?" he asked dryly, leaning back against a shelf and picking a random book from it. It was some sort of instructions on potion-making. Gruesome potion-making at that. The infamous Captain Hook wasn't easily repulsed, but the drawings in this book weren't pretty. People turning themselves inside out, a change-by-change diagram of turning a man into a rabbit… Hook snapped the book shut and looked up at Regina.

"I was looking forward to a bit of leave before our next mission, that's all," she said, her voice eerily calm. She stood a bit farther down the shelf from him, running her finger over the titles. "I wanted to work on some of my spell casting. I'm getting rusty out in the wild."

"Surely that can't be all," Hook laughed.

"No." Her face grew dark along with her voice. "That's not all. I want her gone."

"Who? Snow White? I thought you'd been down that road already." He grinned as he strolled toward her. "As I recall, it didn't end well."

"Not Snow, no—though she's as sickening as she ever was—I was speaking of dear Princess Belle."

"Ah," Hook said. He selected another book and used the tip of his hook to gently open it. He had lost the hand years ago in a duel, but thankfully he was just as good a swordsman with his right. "The competition. You never did like having a rival."

"No, I didn't," Regina said. "But trust me. That little slip of a girl won't win this. I will take Prince Charming's place. I will beat her and Red and that sorry little Snow. I'll crush them, if it's the last thing I do."


	4. A Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for.  
> You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for.  
> You know it's true:  
> Everything I do, I do it for you.  
> ~"Everything I Do" Bryan Adams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original of this story was written as something of a musical, so I'm going to include excerpts of the songs as their corresponding scenes appear.

Belle was happy to collapse into the cushioned chair behind the circulation desk. She'd only been there for two hours, and she was already worn-out. She had arrived to find that a bluebird had found its way into the library. The poor thing was terrified out of its wits and took nearly an hour to coax out the door.

After the bluebird was safely free once again, Belle had turned to her original task of shelving books. Of course—because it was that sort of morning—someone had put a dead raccoon in the drop box again. Belle had spent the next hour or so cleaning off the books that had been in the drop box with it. This was the third time this fall someone had left a dead animal in the drop box. All of them seemed to have been deliberately killed. Not only was it disgusting and annoying, but cruel and illegal.

Sighing, Belle reached for the phone to call the Sheriff. _Just because of the animals_ , she told herself. _Not because he walked you home Friday night._ Still, her stomach knotted up again as she listened to the phone ringing at the Sheriff's station.

"Hello? Storybrooke Sheriff's station. This is Regina Mills."

Belle tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed. She'd called to report vandalism, which had to be reported no matter who the Sheriff was. Not that talking to Regina wasn't disappointing in general…

"Hello Regina," she said. "This is Belle French. I'm calling to report vandalism. There was another raccoon left in the drop box at the library this morning."

Belle tuned Regina out for a second, distracted by the door to the library opening and letting in the bright morning sunlight. Killian Jones waved to her as he sauntered in and leaned against the desk in front of her. He grinned and mouthed _Who are you talking to?_

_Regina_ , Belle mouthed back, stifling giggles at the gagging sounds he made in response.

"…are you even listening to me?" Regina snapped.

"Sorry Regina. There was someone trying to talk to me. What did you say?" Belle said sweetly, desperately willing herself not to crack up at Killian's impersonation of Regina.

"I'll send Sheriff Blanchard over to check it out in a bit," Regina said sourly. "He's _busy_ at the moment." Somehow Belle seriously doubted Graham was busy in the way Regina wanted her to think. Sometimes that girl just didn't know how much was believable. Or when he just wasn't that in to her.

"Thanks," Belle said. She slammed the phone back in the cradle with a little more force than strictly necessary.

"Is her majesty being irksome this morning?" Killian said.

"What do you want, Jones?" Belle asked, put out by her conversation with Regina.

"Jones? What did I do? I thought we were on better terms than that."

Belle sighed. "It's been a trying morning. Do you need something, Killian?"

"I've come to pilfer your internet connection, love," he said, making it sound like some sort of illicit affair.

She snorted. "Nobody talks like that. And why should I let you?"

"Come on darling. Consider it payment for leaving early Friday night. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Fine," Belle said. It wasn't like he was doing any harm. She barely used the internet here enough to make the bill worth it anyway. "Just don't bother me."

"Can I have the password?" he asked, leaning in and winking at her. "Just this once, love?"

Belle leaned over the desk so their noses were inches apart. "It wouldn't be pilfering if I told you, now would it?" she asked with a smirk and sat back up straight. He frowned. "We both know you can hack it without any trouble."

Killian grinned and stepped back, holding his arms out.. "That's why they call me Killian Jones, love."

He settled down at the table closest to the desk and pulled out his laptop. Belle fetched a stack of recent purchases off the cart behind her and set to cataloging them.

The door opened again, this time letting in a petite blonde balancing a stack of books while trying to keep the door open long enough to get inside. Killian jumped up to help her—always the charmer.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly and dumped the books rather unceremoniously on the circulation desk. "Sorry about this, Belle. They were very helpful."

"Good morning, Kathryn," Belle said, amused. Kathryn Price had been attempting to learn programming on her own, checking out every book Belle had on the subject. Now that she had finally convinced her father not to marry her off to the nearest available man, she was determined to get a decent job. And spend the entirety of the library's book stipend on programming books.

"I think I actually stand a chance to get a job now," Kathryn said. "Maybe I can move to Boston or something. There's more work there."

"What about Fredrick?" Belle asked. "What about studying law? You'd just leave that all behind?"

"Fredrick's the only reason I haven't already left. And daddy won't pay for college or anything. So law's out until I save enough."

"I thought you said something about an internship here in town," Belle said. She and Kathryn might not be best friends, but they'd learned a bit about each other throughout Kathryn's crash course in programming.

Kathryn laughed. "It turns out we only have one lawyer here in Storybrooke."

"Who?" Belle didn't think she'd ever needed such services… except when reopening the library after years of disuse… oh.

"Gold," Kathryn said. "It wouldn't be an internship. It would be a slow and painful death."

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but the library door opened again. Scared that it might be Mr. Gold himself-even though he'd never been there as far as she knew-she held her tongue. She had been about to tell Kathryn that it surely wouldn't be that bad to intern with Gold. After all, Belle had seen him in the evenings. He never looked threatening or dangerous then. Maybe his reputation was all nasty rumors. Not that she wanted him to hear her saying so.

It wasn't Mr. Gold. It was David Nolan.

He froze as soon as he saw Kathryn. Her mouth fell open a little. Belle paused, unsure how to act around them. Killian was doubled over in silent laughter out of sight of Kathryn and David.

"Kathryn," David said. "I didn't-"

"It's alright," she said, collecting her things. "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Yeah, uh, thanks. I...uh…"

"I'll see you around, David. Thanks for everything, Belle. I'll be back if I need more help." Kathryn left with only a tight smile at David, who looked rather helpless. Once she was gone, he turned to Belle and Killian.

"I never mean for it to turn out badly," he said. "It just… does. I'm going to get a book." He disappeared back into the stacks of books. Belle watched him go sadly. He and Kathryn had dated several years ago, but it hadn't worked out. Sadly, their parents hadn't caught on to their breakup. Even years later, Mr. Nolan was still pressuring David to get back together with Kathryn, even now that he was engaged to Mary Margaret. There had been several embarrassing encounters about their former relationship recently. Including one memorable rumor Mr. Nolan started about David leading Mary Margaret on. Needless to say, David and Kathryn tried to avoid each other most of the time.

Belle gathered the couple books she'd managed to catalog amid today's distractions and headed back to shelve them. She found David browsing in the general fiction section. He was holding two books and seemed to be indecisive between the two.

"I'd go with _The Book Thief_ ," she said. "It's more your thing." It was her way of saying, _Are you alright?_

"Or I could get both," he said. "Unless the library's imposed a one-book limit since I was last here." _I_ _'m fine. Really_.

"You could get both," she echoed. Before Mary Margaret had started dating him, Belle hadn't known much about David Nolan. Now, she couldn't imagine her life without his friendship. He was a good, kind man. The steady sort of friend who could tell when you needed a kind word or would come over in the middle of the night to kill a spider. Not that Belle had ever asked him to do that, of course.

The phone began to ring and Belle turned back to get it. Before she could get there, she heard Killian's footsteps across the room.

"Hello, Storybrooke library," he said. "If you'd like to donate to our cause you can write a check to Killian Jones"—he broke off and listened to the voice on the other end, wrinkling his nose and holding the phone away from his ear a bit—"I fail to see why that's not funny, love… yes, here she is." He held the phone out to Belle. "It's her royal pain-in-the—"

Belle snatched the phone away. "Hello, Regina. Can I help you?"

"I just called to say that Sheriff Graham is very busy and would like you to know he won't be able to come until late today or tomorrow," Regina snapped.

"That's fine," Belle said as patiently as she could. "The racoon's not going very far."

"I wouldn't think so. Good day, Miss French. And please control your clientele." The phone clicked as Regina hung up.

Belle sighed and looked tiredly at Killian. "Was that necessary?"

"I thought it was funny," Killian said with a wide, arrogant grin. Idiotic musician.

 

* * *

 

The great hall of the Castle was lit with the light of a thousand will-o'-the-wisps, their cool glow given a warm tint by the few torches. They glittered as the fluttered about the ceiling. The magnificent table was set with every sort of dish imaginable and some that were unfamiliar even to Charming. In the corner, musicians began to play, causing the will-o'-the-wisps to dance. Soon their light began to flicker and shift like an open flame. It was beautiful, even though Belle wished King George wouldn't keep the poor creatures trapped like this. They belonged out in the woods and fens, not in a castle. But tonight the King had gone all out with extravagance: King Midas was visiting with his daughter, Princess Abigail.

Snow saw Midas just after Belle did. Belle could see her carefully bring her features under control. Midas' visits were always an ordeal for Snow. Neither him nor King George had ever gotten over Charming's decision to marry her instead of Kathryn. And they didn't even try to hide their displeasure.

As tradition dictated, King George was last to enter. Everyone stood as he made his way to his place at the head of the table, slowly, surveying the people in front of him. Belle suppressed a shiver as his gaze passed over her. He seemed almost gleeful in the pain he would seal for her tonight. Finally he sat and began to eat. Everyone followed suit quickly and soon the room was lively with conversation all down the long table.

The prince's company sat together, as usual, but no one was really eating. Everyone was picking at their food and exchanging sad looks. This wasn't the homecoming they had wanted. They were being sent out and split up without warning. Belle and Graeme hadn't told anyone what had come of their meeting with the King, but Red and Snow had easily picked up that it hadn't gone well. Regina was up in a snit about something she hadn't deemed fit to share with the rest of them yet. Charming and Snow were both dealing with the prospect of their very last mission.

The only one seemingly unaffected by anything was Hook. He was grinning to himself and eating with enthusiasm. It took him a few minutes to notice that no one else was eating. Self-consciously, he dropped his fork and sat up straighter. "Why all the long faces?"

"You know perfectly well why," Regina snapped. "The King is separating us. This is our last night together here." Snow nodded at Regina's words. Even if most of them regularly wanted to push Regina over the nearest cliff, she was one of them and she stuck to that.

"Yes, yes," Hook said. "But the way I see it: this is our last good meal until we get back. Why don't we enjoy it while we can and gripe about our misfortunes on the walk tomorrow?"

Belle ducked her head to hide her smile. Hook's blunt assessment seemed to have cheered everyone a bit. Even the corner of Regina's lip was twitching upward.

"See?" he said. "Not that hard. Just don't think until tomorrow morning. There's time enough to worry then."

"Indeed," Charming said, putting on a brave smile. "Tonight is for enjoying ourselves."

Belle and Graeme nodded along with the rest of the company, but everyone was too caught up in their woes to be able to start a new conversation. There were several moments of tense silence before Red leaned over towards Belle and Graeme.

"So, I heard you two traumatized a page boy earlier," she said.

Belle rolled her eyes. "He's not traumatized."

"You admit it then?" Red grinned.

"Admit what?" Hook asked. "What happened?"

"I heard a… _rumor_ that a page boy found Belle in a rather compromising position earlier today." Red looked positively gleeful. Snow was smiling, half at the teasing and half at Charming's face. He seemed to be trying very hard not to imagine what Belle and Graeme had been up to. Regina was scowling again. She had always wanted Graeme, even though he'd never shown any interest in her whatsoever.

"It wasn't like that," Belle said. "We weren't doing much—" She was cut off by another comment from Red and Killian. Soon the company relaxed into playful banter again. Belle made a mental note to thank Killian later, after it all fell apart again. At least the whole evening wasn't ruined.

"Don't tempt me, _Charming_ ," Graeme said a while later, drawing out the nickname to make it mocking rather than friendly. "If I decided you ought to be dead, no one would ever find more than I wanted them too. All Snow has to do is say the word…"

Charming failed to hide a gulp and Snow laughed. "Stop it, Graeme. I'm very happy with Charming. You know that."

"If I hear one word otherwise," Graeme said, drawing a finger across his neck. Belle couldn't contain the giggle that escaped her. Killian wasn't even trying. His face was in constant risk of falling in his plate from laughing so hard. Killian was their laughter. In a company of such serious people, they needed him. Belle suspected he wasn't even really that amused. He was just trying to keep spirits up. It was working and Belle was grateful.

She was happy for Graeme too. He was the silent, brooding type. The fact that he was even cracking jokes was a good sign. Maybe this wouldn't destroy him completely. She wouldn't be able to bear it if the King's edict broke him.

The beginning of Killian's next sentence was interrupted when King George stood. The room quieted and sat in anticipation. Belle felt as if her stomach had been turned to stone.

"Lords and ladies, guests," the King began. "Tonight is a special night. Not only because of our distinguished guests, King Midas and Princess Abigail, but because tonight it is my honor to announce an engagement."

The assembled crowd clapped enthusiastically. Belle's hand found Graeme's under the table. Snow looked at Belle, her eyes and smile full of happiness for her. Belle forced a smile in return, but she knew it didn't look true. Snow thought this announcement was for her.

"Not every good marriage is formed on True Love," King George said. "Many times, love comes after the wedding instead of before. But that does not make it of any less value."

Red looked at Belle, her confusion evident. Belle shrugged back and looked away quickly. She couldn't meet her friend's eyes. Not knowing what was coming next.

"And so, it is my honor to announce the coming wedding of Graeme, the Huntsman of Anorien." Slowly, Graeme stood as the room applauded once more. His hand slipped from Belle's, leaving her with a cold, empty feeling not just in her hand, but her whole body. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. She took a deep breath and opened them again. Snow and Red were grinning at her. Charming and Killian were sitting back in their chairs, trying to look suave and not so excited about a wedding.

King George looked right at Graeme and Belle as the applause died down. "His bride: Lady Rose Red of Anorien."

There was no applause.

Snow's mouth dropped open as she gaped at her friends.

Charming suddenly sat up straight in his chair.

Killian looked around and began to swear at King George under his breath.

Regina was struggling to understand if this was a good or bad thing. After all, he'd only passed from one rival to another.

Red's eyes were wide and filling with tears. She was looking between Belle and Graeme desperately as if hoping they would deny it. Belle could only look sadly back at her.

"Lady Red, if you would please stand," King George said.

Slowly, shakily, Red stood. Her hands were clutching her skirt in a death grip. She was taking deep breaths to try to control herself. Slowly, one person at a time, applause started. It was weak, halfhearted. Everyone knew about Graeme and Belle. They'd been found together enough times, including today. Everyone knew no one wanted this, but still they clapped. It died down after a couple seconds and Red's face was stained with tears.

As soon as there was silence again, Red turned and ran from the room, her hands over her face. Graeme looked to Belle and she nodded. Red was his fiancée now. He started to move, but Snow laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," she whispered.

Graeme nodded and sat down. Snow lifted her skirts so she wouldn't trip and ran out after Red.

 

* * *

 

Snow found her in an unused sitting room on the third floor. Her silk dress pooled around her as she was nestled in a corner, still crying into her hands. Snow closed the door with a bit of a snap to alert Red to her presence before kneeling down beside her. The lavender and crimson fabrics mixed together on the floor and Snow gently put an arm around her friend.

"Red?" she said quietly. She knew not to try to say much more than that. There was no need for pleasantries between them. Not after all these years. They had been children when they met each other in the woods near Anorien's palace. They had become friends easily and spent years together. When Snow's mother died, it was Red who comforted her. When Red first changed a few years later, Snow was the one who begged that she not be barred from the palace. Yes, having a werewolf around was dangerous, but she had her cloak to prevent the change.

By the age of twelve, they were inseparable. When Snow's father had Red granted the title of "Lady", most people were surprised to learn she was a commoner. Belle had come to them later, but became just as dear to them. They were sisters. They had spent years together, fought every battle together, borne every hardship.

"I can't do this," Red choked through her tears. "I can't marry him."

"I know," Snow said. "I know."

"She's our friend," Red continued. She wasn't telling Snow anything Snow didn't know already, but she just needed to say it. "She's been in love with Graeme for years. I can't betray her like this. And then—" She broke off into fresh sobs.

"And then there's Peter," Snow finished. Red and Peter had been quietly together for several years now. Peter was a good knight and had a privileged position for a blacksmith's son. Snow knew he wasn't always in good favor with King George due to some of his more radical ideas. Otherwise he seemed like a decent sort. And Red loved him.

"Do you think he knows?" Red asked.

"About tonight? Yes. King George would have told him." Snow knew her father-in-law wouldn't miss an opportunity to gloat. Peter had no rank outside the army and wouldn't be allowed at tonight's dinner, so the King would have sought him out beforehand.

"We were going to ask for permission to marry," Red whispered. "We were going to…" She buried her face in Snow's shoulder, her tears hot against Snow's skin.

"Belle understands," Snow said quietly after a few minutes. "So does Peter. It's not your fault. Graeme is a good man. Everyone knows you didn't choose this."

"But I still have to marry him."

Snow sighed. She wanted to find Peter and get someone to marry him and Red tonight before King George was any wiser. But only the King could give nobles permission to marry. And as Red was a Lady, even if not by birth, she couldn't marry without that permission. It wouldn't be given, so any elopement would be punished as adultery: with death for both Red and Peter.

"You can go talk with Peter in the morning," Snow said. "We leave two hours after dawn, but if you're up early, you could still find him."

"Talking won't help," Red said, a hint of a growl in her voice. It wasn't often that the wolf was visible in Red, but Snow made sure not to tense at it or show fear. Red was in no state to keep the wolf in check right now.

"You don't know that. Go and see him in the morning." She untangled herself from Red's grasp and stood, holding out her hands. "Come on."

Red rubbed her face roughly to wipe away the tears before taking Snow's hands. Snow tucked Red's arm in hers and led her slowly back up to her chambers. She brought Red her nightgown and washed her face. Red was silent and obedient the whole time. She didn't resist, but nor did she help. She seemed to have moved from her grief to a state of shock. Snow tucked her under the covers and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"Sweet dreams, sister," she whispered. "It will all be better in the morning."

_I hope_.

 

* * *

 

The Castle had one tower higher than all the rest. Although from a distance it seemed to end in a spire, there was a small landing at the top. Most people never knew about it. The stairs up to it were long and far from any other destination. Tonight they were dark, the only light being the faint starlight from the occasional window. The steps were stone and even, spiraling upward and upward towards the heavens.

Belle concentrated on the feeling of Graeme's hand in hers as he led her up the twisting staircase. It was warm and held hers tightly, but not enough to hurt. She gripped his hand in return. She didn't want to let go. Their feet moved in perfect rhythm with each other. His soft leather boots were silent and her heels clacked a bit on the stones. She could feel the soft weight against her hips of her gown's train as it followed her up the stairs. She wished she had worn gloves tonight—the air was cool with the coming autumn and her gown was strapless.

They emerged on the top of the tower. It was even colder up here and the wind whipped about them. Graeme silently took off his cloak and draped it over her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. He stepped quickly away once more, as if he had momentarily forgotten that she was no longer his.

The stars were bright in the dark sky and reflected in the waters surrounding the Castle. There was no moon tonight, the stars endless with no clouds to obscure them either. Just the dark eternity dotted with glittering specks of light. In the west, there was a faint red glow on the horizon—the front lines.

"What are we doing here?" Belle asked. Graeme didn't respond. He just turned to stand by the stone wall on the edge of the ledge.

Belle joined him there, the wind blowing into her face. She wrapped the cloak tighter around her. It was heavy and soft and filled her whole body with a delicious warmth. But it was still late and they were leaving in the morning. They weren't even together anymore. They shouldn't be up here alone together in the dead of night. "We can't be caught up here," she said. "We're not together anymore."

Still, he didn't respond. She knew he wasn't ignoring her. He just didn't have anything to say yet. She continued, "If someone thinks… We could be accused of adultery. We could be executed."

"I know," Graeme said, not looking at her, just out over the silent waters. Belle wasn't afraid of being caught, not really. Most of the guards wouldn't accuse them for a last good-bye. Most people were on their side. The only ones they had to fear were Regina or the King. But neither of them were the sort to go stargazing on a tower. Belle looked up. The stars were beautiful. She had always loved looking at them, the way the longer she looked, the more appeared from the depths of the night. Some feared the expanse of the sky, but Belle loved it. It was open, free, not bound by any laws of man or magic. Completely untouchable.

"I was going to propose to you tonight," Graeme said, bringing Belle back down to earth.

"What?"

"A proper proposal. I know you were there this afternoon and already knew, but I wanted to ask you anyway." His voice was full of wry pain. Belle took his hand again and squeezed it gently. "I asked one of the guards to leave the doors unlocked for us. I was going to sweep you off after the banquet."

Belle's eyes filled with tears. "But that's not possible now, is it?" she said. "It's not the beginning, it's the end."

He turned to her suddenly, cupping her chin with his palm and meeting her eyes with a fierce passion. "Never the end," he said. "Never."

"Graeme, you're to marry—"

"I don't care about that. We won't avoid each other. I won't forget you," he said, his voice just as sharp and earnest. "Being with you… it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I refuse to leave it all behind. Things will change tomorrow morning, but it's not the end. Promise me you won't forget that."

Rarely had she seen him so certain, so vehement. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. "I love you."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up a bit so he wasn't so much taller. "I would have loved you forever, Belle. I was would have given everything for you, died for you. Don't let that mean nothing. Remember that I love you."

"I will. Until the end of my days," Belle said. Her heart was breaking, shattering. "I don't want it to be this way."

"Neither do I, love. Neither do I." He set her down on her feet again, but didn't take his hands from her waist.

"Promise me one thing," she said, blinking back her tears. She couldn't let him comfort her. Comfort would lead to more attachment. They needed to break this off. She wouldn't become his secret lover. And he wouldn't ask her to. It needed to be a clean break. There could be no rumors, no temptation. She wouldn't ruin his marriage. However much he didn't want it now, it would be his to live with.

"Anything."

"Be good to Red. She's like a sister to me. She deserves someone who will respect her and love her." She bit her lip. "I know it's unfair to ask you to love her, but please try. Make her happy. She doesn't deserve to pay for our unhappiness."

"I will," Graeme said without hesitation. "Of course I will. For you."

"No. Not for me. Do it for her. She deserves the best you can give. To be loved for her own sake. Don't forget me, but let her be your wife."

"I will," Graeme said. He laid his hand on her cheek. "Tomorrow morning, I will. But first I must do one last thing."

As he drew closer to her, Belle's eyes fluttered shut. "We shouldn't," she said. "We could be caught."

"We won't."

He closed the distance between them and met her lips with his. His arms around her pulled her to him until there was not space between them. He kissed her with every bit of the passion he had spoken with. Belle kissed him back, one last kiss between them. It was a farewell kiss. It was a longing kiss. It was a desperate, raw, and anguished kiss. It was their one last embrace before they would be forever parted by the edict of the King. It made Belle's head light and her unable to support herself without leaning against Graeme.

But eventually it had to end. They pulled away for air and Belle stepped back. She took off his cloak and handed it back to him. The cold air caught her by surprise and she drew a sharp breath. It was over.


	5. A Journey Begins

Red woke from a restless sleep to the dawn streaming through her windows onto her face. She opened her crusty eyes only to be blinded by the bright light. Her mouth was dry and sour and her body was sticky with sweat. It was a relief to push away the thick bed coverings and let them flop to the floor. Someone else would pick them up later. Someone always would.

It wasn't until she sat up that the memory of the night before came back to her. She groaned aloud and hauled herself to the washroom, staring at her bleary-eyed face in the mirror. She had to marry Graeme. She was destroying her best friend's happiness. She had to leave on another mission this morning. And then there was Peter. She thought he would come to see her last night—surely he would have heard about her engagement.

"I'm going to marry Graeme," she whispered to herself in the mirror. Saying it aloud didn't make a difference—she still couldn't quite believe it was true. Not when she was alone in her washroom like this. "I'm going to—" It was harder to say the second time. Grief threatened to overwhelm, to choke her. She swallowed and managed to finish, "marry Graeme."

Tear pricked at the backs of her eyes, but she swallowed them. No. She would not cry today. She had used up all her tears last night. Today she would be strong.

She stripped off her nightgown and climbed into the bath Regina had left for her. Even if she could be a manipulative harpy, there were some advantages to sharing a washroom with a competent sorceress, hot baths being one of them. Red washed quickly. She needed to see Peter before they left.

The door opened just as she stepped out of the bath. It was Belle. Red ducked her head and let her wet hair fall over her face. She didn't want to see the pain in Belle's eyes. She knew the arranged marriage wasn't her fault, but maybe if she wasn't there, Belle would have had her happy ending. Or maybe Graeme would have been married to Regina instead. One never knew with King George.

"It's alright," Belle said quietly.

Red looked up sharply. "What?"

"It's not your fault. I know that. Please don't let this come between us." There was something about her, standing there in a robe with dark bags under her eyes and her hair still mussed from sleep. She wanted them to be friends, as if nothing had happened. As if Red wasn't engaged to the man Belle had loved almost all her life. Red didn't know how to deal with it. If their situations had been reversed she was sure she'd hate Belle right now, just for existing.

"You're not jealous?" Red asked.

Belle laughed. "I'm jealous alright." She sat on the side of the bathtub. "I've dreamed about my wedding and life with Graeme for years. And now it's not me he's going to wake up next to for the rest of his life—it's you. Of course I'm jealous. I'd hit you if I thought it would change anything."

She looked so… fierce sitting there. Red usually thought of Belle as more quiet and bookish. Even though she had proved she was snarky and opinionated and impulsive plenty of times over, Red was still surprised to see it. She began to laugh. Softly at first, then louder as Belle's laughter joined hers.

"But… I'm… I'm not going… to hit you," Belle said through her laughs. It wasn't even a funny thing to say, but it set them off again. The laughter was like a balm, healing the wounds between them. Red couldn't have stopped, even if she wanted to. It felt… wonderful.

The third door banged open and Regina stuck her head in. "If you two don't _mind_ ," she snapped. "Some of us would like some sleep before we have to leave."

The door nearly took off her nose as it slammed shut again.

Belle and Red giggled, taking deep breaths to try to control themselves. As much as there were perks to sharing a washroom with a sorceress, there were dangers as well.

"I should go," Red said. "I was going to talk with Peter before we leave."

Belle nodded. "It's best that he hear it from you."

Red finished dressing and gathered her things. At the door back to her room she paused. "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

Red couldn't find Peter anywhere. He wasn't in his room or with the other officers or in any of his usual places. His friends were unhelpful or plain uncooperative. Exasperated and running out of time, Red ran to the barracks again, hoping he had shown up there since she last checked. She couldn't leave without seeing him again. Just one more time. A chance to say good—

In her hurry, she slammed face-first into a man who was just exiting the barracks. "I'm so sorry—"

The man laughed gently at her clumsiness and held out a hand to steady her. "Whoa there, m'lady," he said. "What are you in such a rush for?"

"I'm looking for Peter of Anorien. He's an officer in the 47th—"

"I know him," the man said. "But I'm afraid you won't find him here."

"Where then?" Red asked. "I've been looking for him all morning."

The man looked her up and down, then nodded. "Come. I'll take you to him."

Red followed him down several flights of stairs until they reached the lowest levels of the Castle: the dungeons. Red had realized where she was being taken nearly as soon as they had started downward, intellectually at least. Even now, her mind was still in denial—as if she could will it untrue. He couldn't be down there. It just couldn't be possible.

It was minutes after they entered the dungeons when her guide stopped in front of a cell. It was minimum security and even had a small window. A barred and ground-level one, but a window.

Peter was in there. He was slumped against the far wall, his head resting on his chest, turned away from her. Red rushed to the bars and dropped to her knees, reaching out for him. "Peter." Had they hurt him, or was he just asleep? She couldn't tell from the way he was curled around himself. Why was he even here? What did he do? "Peter."

A moan, and he stirred, slowly opening his eyes. "Red?" He woke enough to properly recognize her and bolted upright. "Red, what are you doing here?" He crawled over to her, letting her touch his face.

"I had to see you," Red said, caressing his face through the bars, frustrated she couldn't hold him close.

"You need to go," Peter said. "If the King catches you down here… You can't be seen with me anymore."

"Why not? What are you doing here? What happened?" She looked around them. They were alone—her guide seemed to have gone back to his duties. She lowered her voice and said, "Do you know… about…"

"Last night?" Peter gave a dark laugh. "I heard about it alright. The King came down yesterday afternoon to gloat a bit."

"The King? Why are you down here? What did you do?"

Peter sighed and shifted so he was sitting properly instead of crouching. "Nothing specific, I don't think. It was just a bunch of things that built up over time. Then one of my own men reported me for 'seditious speech' and I ended up here."

"What did you say?" Red asked, relief spreading through her veins like cool water. At least it wasn't something new. Peter had always been rather radical in his views on the war. He also couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut about them. They were good ideas, but the King didn't like them much. The charge of sedition was flimsy most of the time. They could deal with it. They could get him out.

"The usual," Peter said. "I got into an argument about the Dark Ones. Apparently the King had forbidden discussion of that idea or something. Or maybe the man was out to catch me for something. But next thing I know, I'm hauled up to His Majesty and then stuck down here."

Red nodded. Peter had been saying for years that the only way to win the war against the ogres was to appeal to the Dark Ones for help. It was a vastly unpopular idea that the King tried to shoot down with every opportunity. Red could see Peter's point—the Dark Ones were the most powerful sorcerers in all the realms and could easily defeat the ogres—but she couldn't see them wanting to help. Besides, no one had seen or heard of the Dark Ones in years. Most people thought they were just a myth. There was no way King George could put the war in the hands of a possible fantasy.

"So it was your mouth that got you in trouble," she said, smiling a little. There was dirt clinging to the fringe of his hair and she brushed it away. "As usual."

"It probably doesn't help that I asked for permission a few days ago," Peter added. He said it like an afterthought, but Red's mouth dropped open. Her hands froze on his face.

"Permission? To… to marry me?"

Peter nodded. "I was going to surprise you with the proposal when you got back. But it appears the King had other things in mind."

"Yeah." Red took a deep breath. "Do you—do you think that this has anything to do with that?"

"Being imprisoned? It has everything to do with your new engagement. King George told me plainly."

"But why? You haven't done anything."

Peter sighed. "King George has been looking for a good reason to be rid of me for years. I'm too much trouble to keep around. Your engagement and this charge of 'sedition' is just a cover for him to hide behind. He _needs_ your marriage to succeed, and I'm too big of an obstacle."

She tried to hold him closer, but the bars only cut into her arms. "Well you're the noblest obstacle I know, Peter of Anorien."

He laughed and kissed her fingertips. "Besides, it's not as if they could throw Princess Belle in a place like this."

The rest of the thought was left unsaid: but they could throw an unknown soldier down here. King George could do that any day. Red swallowed her anger at the injustice of it all.

It just had to be _her_ unknown soldier.

"So Graeme will be free to see Belle and I'll be left alone?" Red scoffed. She was rather horrified to even think such a thing, but it was a point. Belle and Graeme could keep a secret if they needed to. And as Belle's friend they would trust her to keep quiet.

"He wouldn't do that," Peter said. "You know that. He has too much honor. He will be faithful to you. And I wouldn't be surprised if the King was looking for suitors for Belle right now. It's an airtight scheme."

"He can't keep us apart," Red insisted. "We'll find away. Belle can have Graeme if she wants. I don't care." She looked to him for affirmation, but he was quiet. He seemed to be drinking in the sight of her. Slowly savoring the warmth of her hands in his. Had he heard her? Red touched his face again. "We'll be together. Somehow."

"No," Peter said simply.

"What?" Red knew she was thinking irrationally, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She knew it would never work between her and Peter now. But still, her mind raced for possible solutions.

"I'm afraid I won't be there," Peter said. "Be happy with Graeme. It's the least you can do for me."

"Wait, what? You're not making any sense." Peter wasn't the sort to wish her happiness with another. He was a fighter. He would fight for her, so they could be together.

His voice was hollow. "My crimes are enough to warrant execution. I'm a traitor for my ideals and for loving an engaged woman."

"Execution?" Red repeated. She couldn't… it was too much. "No. Peter, tell me it's not true. You can't—"

"Die? I've got three days, Red."

She bit back tears, running her fingers along his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed it. The bars between them infuriated her. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him one last time.

"If I was going to live, I would fight for you," Peter said. "I would have fought until we were wed. I would have done anything."

"I know," Red said. She was crying now. She hated crying. Actually, she hated King George. "And I would have fought for you."

"Don't cry too long for me," Peter said. "Don't let yourself die before your time. Live. Promise me."

"I promise."

 

* * *

 

"I heard you wanted to see me."

Belle looked up to see none other than Geoffry Stoddard leaning on the circulation desk, positively leering at her. If she didn't know it would only encourage him, she would have pulled her sweater closed farther over her chest. Not that her shirt was scandalous in any way—he just looked at her like it was.

"I don't," she said firmly. "You must have been misinformed." She had learned years ago that being polite to Geoffry only made things worse. The only way to deal with him was to tell him to go away in no uncertain terms. Several times.

"No need to be shy," he said, winking at her—winking!—"Your father mentioned you might have trouble admitting it."

"Admitting what?" Belle responded automatically, cursing herself the moment the words left her mouth. The worst possible thing she could do was play along, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"That you're in love with me, of course." He reached for her hand, but Belle pulled it away. Her _father_ had said that? She took a deep breath to swallow her rage. How could he? After she had specifically told him she wasn't interested! Sure, Geoffry was a decent guy. He had a job and could carry on a conversation. He could flirt and romance a girl until her head spun with adoration. He was caring and loyal and charming. Someday, a girl would be lucky to have him. But he wasn't for Belle. If only everyone could understand that.

"I am not in love with you," Belle said. "Now, please. Do you have a concern about the library? If not I'll ask you to leave."

"Of course I have a concern about the library," Geoffry said, grinning. "It's more about the librarian—" Okay. Maybe he had some cheesy lines. But all the same, Belle would have been happy to be his friend if only he wasn't interested in more than that!

"Alright. Out." Belle pointed to the door before looking back at her computer. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away. "You're just here to distract me and be annoying, so out."

"So I'm distracting?"

"Not like that. Go away. I'm trying to work."

"I could help you."

"No. You couldn't. Please go."

"You—"

"I believe the young lady asked you to leave."

For the second time that day, Belle's head snapped up. It was Graham. Belle couldn't help but notice he was several inches taller than Geoffry. And definitely stronger. Geoffry's football days were years behind him. Graham however… Belle forced her eyes away from Graham and back to the situation at hand.

"I was just saying goodbye," Geoffry said, trying to salvage things in his favor.

"Then you've finished. Please." He gestured to the door. Geoffry nodded awkwardly and nearly fled. Belle sighed in relief. That was one problem gone. Now if she could just get her heart to slow down. (Graham was standing in front her and he'd rescued her and he was looking _very_ fine this morning—)

"Thank you," she said as calmly as she could.

"I'm always glad to help you," Graham said with a smile.

"And when Geoffry's bothering me, you're always welcome to."

"I'll keep that in mind." He laughed a bit and so did she, but after a moment he took a deep breath and got back to business. "Regina tells me you called. Something about a dead raccoon?"

"Right," Belle said. "I had it taken out back if you want to look. It was stuck in the book drop Monday morning. It's the third time in the past two months."

Graham nodded. "I'll go out and look then." A couple of paces away he turned around again. "Don't go anywhere," he said.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Once he was gone, Belle indulged herself in hitting her head against the desk several times. She couldn't help the feeling of guilt that came over her. Why was she flirting with him? Yes, he was attractive, ridiculously so. He was flirting back, but did she really want to be with him? And then there was Gold.

This morning he'd been flipping the sign on his door to "open" as she passed. Their eyes had met for only a moment, but Belle flushed just thinking about it. His eyes were a lovely, rich brown. She and Gold had never spoken, but she felt almost like she was betraying him by flirting with Graham. There was no relationship and there would probably never be, so the whole notion was ridiculous, of course. But now that Graham was gone, all she could think of was Gold's eyes when he had looked at her this morning and the twisting in her stomach when she imagined him overhearing her conversation with Graham just now.

She was caught by surprise when Graham came back in. "Did you find anything to help?" she asked.

Graham shook his head. Belle noticed that his eyes were a smoky green color. They were expressive eyes, filled with emotion for all the world to see. "The only thing I can suggest is security cameras or something around the book drop. Have you not considered that?"

"We have," Belle sighed. "But that sort of thing costs money and the mayor's office is reluctant to allow me extra funds." Belle knew it was Regina's doing. Regina hated her and Mary Margaret. There wasn't a good reason for it, but she did. Belle had no doubt Regina had asked her mother, the mayor, to deny the funding request.

"I understand," Graham said. "I'll see if I can do anything. Perhaps if the sheriff recommends it for the prevention of crime against public property we can get something done about it."

"Thank you," Belle said. "That would be great."

"Is that all then? I do have to get back…"

"Yeah, that's all," Belle said quickly. This man was doing strange things to her mind. The sooner he left the better.

"See you around then." Graham left with a nod.

Belle watched him go, a pair of deep brown eyes in the forefront of her memory.

Snow White woke to the sound of an anguished song. She sat up, glancing over to see that Charming was already up. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for another hundred years or so, but still she hauled herself out of bed. Last night had been the best sleep she'd had in weeks. Snow didn't like to think of herself as a spoiled princess, but in her book, a bed was better than tree roots every time. And it was nice not to have to endure Hook's muffled laughter if she and Charming came within six inches of each other.

The song still drifted through the window, bringing tears to Snow's eyes. She walked out onto the balcony. The song was all too familiar these days. As Snow had guessed, a young woman led the procession in the streets below. Her voice was high and clear, singing the lament for the fallen man in the casket behind her. It was tradition for a soldier's lament to be sung in the city streets by his love, or his mother if he didn't have a girl waiting for him.

Charming silently came to stand by her, slipping an arm around her waist. Snow rested her head on his shoulder. She knew every note of the lament by heart. She no longer knew how many times she had heard it sung in the streets since the start of the war.

"How many more must die?" she asked. "How much longer must this go on?"

Charming didn't answer except to tighten his grip around her comfortingly. There was no answer. Only another sad song.

 

* * *

 

Even the sun seemed dark that morning, dimmer somehow, as if it could match the mood of the people far below. Prince Charming's company gathered in the Castle's courtyard at noon, their weapons on their belts and their backs laden with food and supplies for their mission. They were dressed in their best cloaks for the occasion—they would change to more suitable clothing for the woods later. Now they were symbols of hope and must appear as such. The seven warriors paused for a moment in front of the gate to share a look. A determined look. A resigned look. At a nod from the leader, they set out.

The court and people of the town were gathered to see them off, watching from the balconies and rooftops when there was no longer room on the streets. From the top of the gatehouse, a woman, cloaked in black, watched them, unnoticed by anyone. She counted off each of the company as they passed beneath her.

First the royal blue cloak, side by side with white. They shared an even stride, their fingers interlocked with each other's. They walked tall and proud, a forced smile on her face for the people. His mouth was fixed in a determined line. The leaders, the strong, the brave.

A red cloak followed, the hood up to hide the tear-stained face beneath. Still, she stood tall as her friends before her, determined not to show how much she was hurting. As they passed the gallows, her head turned toward it.

Behind her was a black cloak next to one of light green and yellow. They didn't walk as the first two did, farther apart, but not avoiding each other. He walked with a rather cocky strut, her steps were heavy and burdened. The hook in place of his left hand glinted in the sunlight.

Close behind them, an emerald green cloak, closely tailed by deep purple. He was set, determined. The calm after the storm. She was subtly flirting, hoping to catch him off guard.

The seven passed under the gate and over the bridge to the forest. For the last time.


	6. A Phantom in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,  
> Darkness stirs and wakes imagination...
> 
> ~"Music of the Night" Phantom of the Opera

The early autumn evenings were golden. The sun streamed through the trees, catching on the edges of the changing leaves of the enchanted forest. The light seemed to be almost tangible, like a warm fountain from the sky. The forest itself was quiet. There was no sound but the calling of the birds and the occasional snap of a twig under the foot of one of the company.

For the first time in years, Belle walked alone. Graeme walked somewhere behind her, she didn't know where and she didn't let herself look back. Their lives were separate now. Remaining as "just friends" would be too painful. Maybe someday they would be able to, but not now. Hook had spent the day alternately trying to make conversation with her and Red, but neither of them felt like talking.

"Let's stop here for the night," Charming announced. "We've made good progress today. We should make it to the border in another couple days."

Everyone nodded silently and set down their packs to make camp. Graeme and Red went off to find food, Snow and Hook to get firewood. Belle set to her task of preparing a space for a fire while Regina and Charming set up shelters.

Belle's heart ached a bit to see there was one less shelter than usual. She would be in with Red now and Graeme with Hook. Snow and Charming had their own and the fourth belonged to Regina—no one wanted to share with her and she didn't want to share with anyone. The shelters were really only canvasses propped up on sticks, open towards the center of the camp, but they helped guard against wind and dew. A bit at least. The lack of privacy had allowed Belle and Graeme to share one in the past, but that was over. No longer would she wake with his arms around her. The thought hurt more than she'd expected it might.

Snow and Hook returned, Hook settling down to make the fire. Snow took Belle's hand and pulled her up. "I saw a stream not far from here. Come get water with me."

Belle nodded and grabbed the waterskins from everyone's packs while Snow fetched a pot for their supper. The stream was a lively one. Belle knew it well—they would spend the next days following it up towards the northern mountains.

"Are you going to be alright, Belle?" Snow asked gently as they knelt in the grass.

"Someday, yes," Belle said. "But it hurts. So much more that I thought it would. We were supposed to—"

"You don't have to say it," Snow said. "I know. But you must have faith that this isn't the end. I know it's too early for you to believe this, but someday you will find someone else to be happy with. Love comes in many forms with many people. Graeme was not your one and only. It's not over."

Belle nodded. She didn't want to think of loving someone else. Not now, at least. Still, a small, hidden part of her whispered that she wanted another chance at love. Someone she could truly be with. That she didn't want to pine after Graeme forever. That she wanted to love again. For now she silenced that voice, but it was there, underneath.

She filled the last waterskin in silence and walked slowly back to camp. Snow's words rang in her mind even though she didn't want to think about them yet. She found the campsite in usual form upon returning. Graeme and Red were still hunting, Regina was trying to nitpick Hook's methods of making a fire ("Seriously, woman! How many ways are there to make a fire? I'm pretty sure I've got it."), and Charming was studying what seemed to be some sort of map.

Belle replaced the waterskins in everyone's packs, only to find herself with nothing else to do afterwords. There was still a bit of time before Graeme and Red would be back—there was certainly time for a rest before getting supper ready. Her eyes were heavy from a night with little sleep and her limbs ached from walking all day. She would just take a little rest until it was time to help with dinner. A little rest couldn't hurt…

Belle woke to Red shaking her and the smell of food in the air. "Belle, it's time to eat," Red was saying.

"You should have woken me sooner," Belle said as she rose and took her place with the company around the fire. Snow handed her a bowl of soup—it was really whatever Red and Graeme had managed to catch in water with a few herbs, but it tasted good after a day of travel.

"You needed your sleep," Charming said.

For the first time any of them could remember, the silence between them felt awkward. There was too much tension. Belle and Graeme. Graeme and Red. Regina and everyone else. Hook was the first one to show is annoyance and frustration with it. First his foot tapping on the ground. Then, his hook subconsciously digging a hole in the dirt as he ate.

"So when's the betrothal ceremony?" he asked suddenly, looking at Graeme and Red. "His Majesty failed to mention in his announcement."

Everyone paused for a moment, looking around at each other before slowly continuing their meal. Belle was tense all over. She forced her arm to keep moving her spoon from her bowl to her mouth.

"Hook," Snow said, warning in her voice. Charming looked ready to jump up and intercede if the moment called for it. Regina was looking rather amused as she shifted her gaze from Hook to Red to Graeme and back again.

"I guess it will be once we return," Graeme said. His voice was conversational, but only by his force of will. "His Majesty won't waste any time for sure. He'll want it sealed soon."

"Another reason to dread returning," Red muttered.

Graeme's breath caught. He let it out slowly, visibly relaxing. "Indeed," he said mildly.

"I didn't mean it like that," Red blurted. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Graeme said. "It's alright."

Belle let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. If she hadn't still been mourning her dream with Graeme, she might have felt sorry for him and Red. They were so far from being happily married. Graeme was Snow's brother and Belle's love. Red was the only one of them who he didn't know very well. And now he was going to marry her.

The tension seemed to have eased away from everyone else with Graeme's words. Supper returned to its previous quiet and slightly awkward state.

"I've had enough of this," Hook announced.

"Care to explain?" Charming said wearily.

"Yes, I know things don't look good. Everyone's lives just got ripped to pieces. I get it. But seriously, we can't just sit around moping. If this is going to be our last mission together, let's at least make it a good one." He finished his little speech with a wink at Snow.

"He's right," Red said, nodding. "We can deal with everything when we get back. But we need to concentrate and do well on this."

"Agreed," Belle and Graeme said at the same time, giving each other rather awkward grins. (Why must everything be awkward between them? It was so natural only a day ago…)

"For once, I agree with the pirate," Regina said. Belle smiled a little. Regina and Hook actually agreed on a lot of things. She just didn't want to look like too much of a decent person. It was as if one agreeable word would shatter her reputation.

Charming nodded. "You're right. We can't let our troubles pull us down like this. We have a task ahead of us. It's simple enough, but crucial for the war. We need to do our very best and try to celebrate our last days together rather than mourn them before they're gone." He raised his waterskin. Everyone followed suit. "To one last mission."

"One last mission," they repeated and drank. It wasn't glamorous. Actually they looked rather ridiculous, toasting each other with water like that. But Belle didn't care.

"And Hook?" Charming added. "Don't wink at my wife."

 

* * *

 

Belle's fingers paused their typing for a moment and reached blindly for the glass of water on the desk next to her. She brought it to her lips, tilting it back farther… and farther… and it was empty. Damn. Sighing, she made her way to the small kitchen to refill it. It was Sunday, her day off, so she was using every minute for writing.

This was the first idea that had lasted. She could barely believe that here she was, nearly two weeks later, still writing. The passion for it still coursed through her. She still couldn't wait to sit down and write. This had never happened before. It was strange… alien. Usually, even if she liked an idea, she had to force herself to focus and get the words on the page. But here they poured from her fingertips like a waterfall, nearly tripping over each other in the rush to the paper. It was magical, empowering, intoxicating, almost as if she was not writing them, but typing a story dictated to her from some unseen force.

Humming lightly with the music that drifted in from her laptop, Belle filled her glass at the sink. Just as she was turning off the tap, however, something cold and wet touched her feet. She looked down to see water seeping out from the cupboard under the sink. She muttered curses as she knelt down and opened the cupboard. The water on the floor left dark patches on the knees of her sweatpants.

Sure enough, one of the pipes was leaking everywhere. She so did not have time for this. It was supposed to be Writing Day. Not Fix-the-Apartment Day.

She fetched a towel from the closet to try to soak up the water, but it was still leaking even though the faucet was off. She thought about going upstairs to ask for help before she remembered that the owners were out of town for the weekend. Great. Just great.

She pulled out her phone, wondering who would be open to help her on a Sunday. Or more like, who did she know who knew how to deal something like this? Her fingers hovered over David's name a moment before pressing "call". She didn't like to bother him, but maybe he would know someone.

"Belle?" he answered after a few rings. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's my sink. It's spurting water everywhere."

"Where's the water coming from?" David asked.

"The sink, I said that."

"No, which pipe? Up to the faucet or down from the drain?"

Belle knelt back down to look under the sink. "I don't know," she said. "All the pipes look the same."

David sighed. "Just stay there. I'm coming over. Call me back if it gets worse."

He arrived five minutes later, his truck nearly taking down some of her trees, just like always. Belle met him at the door, still in her soggy sweats and a t-shirt. He was looking like he'd just rolled out of bed to come and help her—which she was more than grateful for. She wasn't sure how she was going to pay for the water damage and it would only get worse from here on out.

"You really need to cut those trees back," he said, right on schedule. He said the same thing every time he stopped by. All her friends had told her she should cut them back and that there wasn't really enough room to get into her driveway. But she didn't own a car, so her motivation to fix the problem wasn't too pressing.

"That's a project for another day," Belle said. "My sink is spewing water at the moment."

David laughed as he set his toolbox down on the kitchen floor. "'Spewing'?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just that it must be Writing Day."

Belle laughed and hopped up to sit on the edge of the counter. David opened up the cupboard and nearly got hit in the face with a jet of water.

"Well, it's leaking alright," he said. He stuck his head under, tinkering with something Belle couldn't see. "I can fix it, it just might take me a while. Do you need to be anywhere this morning?"

"Nope. As you said: Writing Day." She took the box of dish soap and the trashcan he handed her and dumped them in the hall. They were soaked, but she could take care of it later. The soap was probably ruined though. She didn't think it was supposed to get wet before it went in the dishwasher.

"How the writing coming?" David asked, his voice distorted by the cupboard it was in. "Mary Margaret mentioned you were actually getting a good amount done."

"Yeah. Finally," Belle muttered. "It's coming along nicely. I guess."

"You guess? And can you hand me the wrench in the top compartment on the left? The silver one?"

Belle hopped back off the counter to sort through the toolbox. It wasn't on the left, but she didn't mention it. It was easy enough to find. "Yeah," she said. "I don't know, but I can't seem to write the scenes I want to. Snow White is supposed to be the main character, but I don't have that many scenes with her. I keep writing about her friends, Belle and Red."

"Well then doesn't that make them the main characters?" David asked. He took the wrench from her once he noticed that she was holding it out to him. The subsequent sounds coming from under the sink sounded like he was just banging it against the pipes, but Belle was certain whatever he was doing must be more productive than that.

"No," Belle said, resuming her position on the counter. "The story's still about Snow and her rivalry with Regina. I just have to veer it back towards that theme. Belle and Red are subplots."

"And I take it that I shouldn't comment about how you named one of your characters after yourself?"

"Nope."

"Okay then. It sounds like a good story to me."

"You don't even know what it's really about," Belle protested.

"So? You wrote it."

Belle blushed a little, thankful he was still under the sink and couldn't see her. "It's strange," she said, almost to herself. "It's like I have no control over the story. Scenes appear and I wonder where they came from. I mean, I could just delete them, but I don't want to. It's almost as if deleting them would be ripping out something important. I dunno."

"Aren't you the one writing it?" David asked. "Aren't you the one deciding what to write?"

"It doesn't work that way. The story writes itself and I just have to follow along."

"That makes no sense at all, but I'll go with it."

Belle smiled to herself. David was good to talk to about this. Mary Margaret would wonder if something was wrong with her and Ruby would try to argue that Belle was the writer, therefore Belle was in charge. If only.

"Would you like some tea?" Belle asked, sliding off the counter.

"Tea? Why tea?"

She laughed. "It just seems like the thing one ought to offer the man who comes over on a Sunday morning to fix a leaking sink."

David joined her laughter. "Well then. I'll have some tea. But don't you need water from the sink to do that?"

"I can sneak upstairs if I need more than what's in the kettle."

She set the tea to brewing and left him alone to work, pacing her living room. She was itching to write—she didn't know what would happen next in this strange story of hers, but she could feel its importance pressing against her mind. But it seemed rude to slip into her fairy world with David here, so she paced.

The kettle went off and she rushed to get it. She readied two cups and set one on the counter above David's head. "Thanks," he said around the wrench he was now holding in his mouth.

She settled back on the counter and took a sip of her tea. "I'm sorry for pulling you away this morning. I hope you weren't busy."

"Not too busy," he said once he took the wrench out of his mouth. "I was with Mary Margaret."

"Oh," Belle said awkwardly, trying not to imagine—

David sat up suddenly, realizing what Belle had assumed. "Not like that! We—ow." He'd whacked his head on the top of the cupboard.

"Are you alright?" Belle asked, starting to jump down to help him.

"I'm fine. I didn't hit it that hard."

She settled back on the counter and took another sip of tea. "So what were you doing with Mary Margaret this morning if 'not like that'?"

"Oh," he said. "We were just—I met her at Granny's for breakfast. We hadn't seen each other in a few days and this was when we were both free."

"I hope I didn't interrupt—"

"You didn't. We were just finishing when you called."

She nodded. A third sip of tea. Then a fourth. The sounds of gentle clanking and the occasional fizz of water came from beneath the sink. They made a sort of happy, whimsical music. A tune formed in Belle's head and she almost started to whistle it before remembering that David was here. "I'm so glad you and Mary Margaret are happy together," she said instead.

"So am I," David said. "She's wonderful and I still have no idea why she agreed to marry me."

"I dunno. You seem like a pretty nice guy to me," Belle teased. It was rather disappointing to talk with him when she couldn't see his face. But he was fixing her sink for free, so she'd live through it. "You're going to be great together."

"What about you?" David asked. "Any handsome young man on the horizon? Mary Margaret told me something about her brother…"

"Yeah, seems he's got half the town after him," Belle said carefully. It was one thing to admit her crush to Ruby or Mary Margaret. It was another thing to discuss it with David.

"Including you?"

"I—" she paused. Her mind was full of the image of deep brown eyes. Mr. Gold. "I guess," she said uncertainly.

David accepted the response without question. A moment later, he slid out of the cupboard, careful of his head. "That should do it. Call me if it starts up again."

Belle nodded. "Thank you so much."

"Anytime."

She watched his truck driving away—almost hitting the trees again. She stood at the window a moment longer after he was gone, lost in watching the leaves flutter down from the trees. After a moment she started suddenly. Writing. Right. She gathered her tea and brought it back to her computer. The words were burning, desperate to get free.

She began to type.

 

* * *

 

All was quiet. It always was at this time of night. Belle sat beside the slowly dying fire, her knees tucked up against her so they could fit under the blanket around her shoulders. The light was a soft orange, tinged with the black of the night. The outlines of her friends and comrades—some more a friend and others more a comrade—were barely visible anymore. The clouds had moved in during the day, making the night sky lightless.

The second watch was always her favorite. No one else liked it—yes, it meant a broken night of sleep, but it was also quiet. There was just darkness. Graeme had woken her at midnight, his hands achingly familiar. There had been no secret smiles or stolen kisses as she woke and he lay down to sleep. Not anymore.

Belle turned around so her other side could be warmed by the fire. The night had brought the chill of the autumn. If the mission went well then they could hopefully be back before the cold really set in. But maybe the cold would be worth it if they could all be together for a few more days.

With the stars hidden, it was impossible to tell when the watch was over. Regina had decided to show her more human side and volunteer for the third watch, telling Belle to wake her whenever. "You're tired," she'd said. "We can't have you falling over during the march tomorrow. I'll take over whenever you can't handle it anymore." She said it harshly, but it was the best one could get with Regina.

Graeme stirred and coughed in his sleep, startling Belle. It was an endearing sound. One that she would never hear after this mission. _No_ , she told herself. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. She was stronger, better than this. She loved Graeme, but she couldn't anymore. She needed to accept that and move on. Not sit around moping like a lost puppy.

The sharp crack of a stick drew her from her thoughts. She looked around, careful to keep her breathing regular. Better to let any foes think she hadn't heard. She listened carefully. There was no more sound. If it was an ambush surely there would be something to hear now that she was paying proper attention. Nothing. Only the crickets.

She drew her knife slowly from her belt and stood. It wasn't much of a weapon, but her others were with her pack. It would take too long to fetch them. Slowly, she walked towards where she had heard the sound. There was nothing in the forest. Not that she could see.

Waking Charming would be the right thing to do. Having someone with her was smart. But the lure of curiosity was too much for her to stop now. She stepped into the forest. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was no one there. Another step. Still no one. Maybe it had just been an animal. Maybe she was out of her mind. Or dreaming. She'd been so tired today. A third step.

He seemed to appear out of nowhere. A man—but not a man. His skin glittered in the glint of the firelight from the camp. His hair was ragged and he wore an ornate leather ensemble Belle couldn't quite make out in the shifting light. She gasped at the sight of him, surprised.

He looked equally surprised to see her. As if he hadn't known she was there. Or as if he hadn't expected to be noticed. He looked her up and down, his eyes gently roving over her, studying, memorizing. She was suddenly, irrationally self-conscious under his gaze. Her clothes were travel stained and her hair had come loose down her back. There were most likely bags under her eyes and she was all flushed on one side from the fire's uneven heat.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that, you know," she said, holding herself steady and trying to display the confidence she didn't truly feel. There was something disconcerting about this… was he even a man? "You could get yourself killed. I could have stabbed you."

He looked even more surprised at her forward instruction. His eyes widened a moment, and then he let out a high pitched giggle.

"Perhaps it's _you_ who ought to be more careful, dearie," he said. His voiced was high and mocking, as if he was disguising it or wasted or not even human. It didn't repulse her though, only sparked her curiosity further. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand over her wayward curls, a manic grin on his face. "You never know what might lurk in the woods at night."

Belle was frozen, unable to move. His touch was light and his voice much too excited for the the threat in his words. Still, she was entranced by him. Who was he? Why was he here? She started to form the words to ask him as he stepped back.

Still grinning, he vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.


	7. A Dream in the Daylight

Mr. Gold was not like most people: he didn't hate Monday mornings. For him, Mondays were no different than any other day of the week. He opened his shop like any other day. Same time. Same way. The only difference about Monday mornings was Belle. Her day off was Sunday, so Monday he saw her again after being without her for a day.

This morning she slowed more than usual on her way past his shop—but not until she saw him. She snuck a glance through the blinds at him as habit (No, he told himself. He wasn't watching for her. Not this morning.) and started a bit when she met his eyes. Resisting the urge to look down or away, he kept his gaze steady towards her. She was beautiful as ever this morning. All blue eyes and wayward curls and ridiculous red heels that only barely matched her green dress.

She looked curiously at him for a long moment as if trying to recall something about him. Then a second later she realized she was staring and hurried away.

Mr. Gold smiled a little to himself. Mondays weren't just another day. Actually, this Monday was an excellent day indeed.

 

* * *

 

Belle took a bite of pancakes, careful not to let syrup drip onto her shirt. She didn't have time to go home and change. And after this morning, she wasn't sure she wanted to walk by Mr. Gold's shop again for a while. The look in his eyes—it had been so familiar. As if she'd seen it elsewhere, in a dream.

The diner was relatively empty this time of day. Being the single employee of the library, Belle had the freedom to choose her hours. If that meant she wanted to open later than most businesses in Storybrooke, she generally had the freedom to do so. And it meant she could get breakfast at Granny's most days after the usual morning crowd had cleared out.

"Belle? Are you going to eat that?" Ruby asked, leaning on the counter next to her.

Startled, Belle realized she'd been holding her fork in midair for several minutes while she zoned out, the image of Mr. Gold and his eyes filling her thoughts. She promptly put her fork in her mouth. "Happy?" she asked Ruby once she swallowed.

"Sure." Her voice was flat as she turned back to the register.

"Ruby," Belle said sternly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that for a second. What's going on? Did something happen?"

Ruby continued examining the register—Belle knew enough to know she was faking work. After a moment longer, Ruby's resolve broke and she turned back to Belle. "Archie told me not to try to talk to him again."

Belle drew in a sharp breath. It had taken years for Ruby to gather the courage to talk to Archie and even longer to admit that she wanted more than friendship. "What?"

"Granny put him up to it. But he thinks it's best if we just stay away from each other from now on." Ruby blinked back tears. Belle reached across the counter to cover Ruby's hand with her own.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Ruby pulled her hands out from under Belle's and roughly wiped her eyes. "If he's going to be like this, he's hardly worth it."

"Do you need me to head across the street and kick his sorry butt?" Belle said. "I think I still have time before work."

"Time before work for a butt-kicking?" Ruby laughed.

"Something like that," Belle responded with a grin. "I'm a librarian you know. We're quite ferocious when we want to be."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Yeah…"

"Hey," Belle said quietly. "It's not all that bad. And weren't you after Graham anyway?"

The mention of the sheriff seemed to do the trick. Ruby brightened and grinned mischievously. "He comes in here after he gets off work a lot."

"Does he talk to you?" Belle asked. She wasn't sure how she could possibly be rooting for Ruby's prospects with Graham at the same time she was interested in him herself. Maybe it was just better her than Regina. Or maybe she was still in denial of exactly how far she'd fallen for a certain pawnbroker…

Ruby nodded. "He usually sits right here and we talk a bit while I'm not working." She bit her lip a moment before leaning in and saying, "He's a lot more interesting now than he was before he left."

"I should think so," Belle said. "He's not the guy we remember. He's a grown man."

"That's for certain."

"Ruby!" Belle hissed.

"What? Anything you got out of that was all in your head. I wasn't implying anything."

"Yeah right you weren't," Belle said, pink touching her cheeks. "And anyway, I'm glad you're getting some time with Graham. He's much better than, well, you know…"

"Archie," Ruby finished. "Yeah. I'm just glad I have someone to move on to."

It was then that none other than Regina Mills appeared from behind them. "Excuse me for overhearing, but you don't."

"What?" Belle said. She was forever trying and failing to come up with a more intelligent response to things. At least it was better than "huh?" which had been the story of high school for her.

Regina glared at Ruby and Belle. "Graham is mine. Don't try to stick your nose where it doesn't belong if you know what's good for you."

"Are you here for a reason, or are you leaving yet?" Ruby snapped.

"I'll be reporting your rudeness to Granny," Regina said coolly. "I'm sure that sort of behavior isn't ideal for attracting customers."

"Then why don't you leave?" Belle asked, keeping her voice as sweet as possible.

"I'm here to get coffee for Graham and me." The smirk on her face made Belle want to vomit.

"Graham doesn't like coffee," Ruby said. "He drinks cappuccino or coke for caffeine." Belle almost chocked on her pancake at the expression on Regina's face at that. Trust Ruby to know every little detail about the man.

"Don't be ridiculous," Regina said. "You have no way to know that. Two coffees please."

Ruby shrugged and turned to make the coffees while Regina seethed. It only took a glance in her direction for Belle to earn herself a patented Regina Mills death glare. Ruby handed Regina the coffees and took the payment. As Regina left, Ruby called after her, "Don't blame me when he doesn't like it. Some of us actually take the time to talk to a man before throwing ourselves at him."

The door shut behind Regina a little more forcefully than usual.

 

* * *

 

Charming's favorite part of a mission was not the trek there. He didn't mind it, of course. It was nice to be able to walk through silent forests without having to constantly be on alert for the enemy. It was nice to have Snow beside him, her hand in his. It was nice to be away from his father and the war, even as they marched away from the former and toward the latter.

All the same, the journey to the front lines was always accompanied by a feeling of dread that only grew stronger with every step. This could be that mission. This could be the one where he lost a man. This could be the one where they were ambushed. Stories of the horrors of the war constantly came back from the front lines. Even years after the King had banned their telling, they were still whispered in secret in the barracks or while training. So far, Charming had been lucky to escape with nothing worse than broken limbs or a cracked rib from his company. But this could be the mission that changed his luck.

Snow raised their entwined hands and kissed his knuckles which were still bruised from their encounter with the Castle wall. "Charming," she said.

"Yes?" He shook his head a bit, startled from his thoughts.

"Nothing. It took a while to get your attention."

"Sorry. I was… lost in thought."

"I noticed." Her smile was sweet and playful, so characteristic of his lovely bride. "I'm going to go walk with Graeme for a bit."

"What? You don't like me as much as him?" he teased.

"Look at him."

Snow was right. The Huntsman walked several paces ahead of the company. His shoulders were still tall and proud, but the usual ease in his gait was gone. "Go then," Charming said. "He needs you more than I."

Snow nodded and kissed his lips, lingering long enough to make her point very clear: she most definitely liked him more. She walked away from him backwards, grinning saucily. Charming winked back at her. His wife was certainly the fairest of them all. Charming knew many men who would say the same of their own wives (and many more who wouldn't), and maybe they were right. But of them all, Snow White was the only one to whom he had given his heart. It was that more than anything that made her the fairest.

Charming slowed to let the rest of the company pass him. He wasn't too fond of walking alone. At least in the back he could make it seem as if he was guarding their tail.

This way it was also harder to see Graeme and Snow up in the front of the group. He wasn't jealous—Graeme was like a brother to Snow, nothing more. But it wasn't his business to overhear their conversation, so he kept his distance.

They passed over a brook and through clearings and little spots of meadows that were covered in orange autumn flowers. The chill wind nipped at Charming's exposed neck and face, keeping him alert in the monotony of the march.

As they passed over another small stream, Charming waited for Regina to step over delicately. She insisted on wearing heeled boots out in the wild. Usually it wasn't a problem, but now she tripped on an uneven tree root and lurched forward.

Charming jumped across the stream to catch her. Her arms wrapped around him instinctively before she realized who had caught her. She pushed him back, almost upsetting his balance and sending him toppling in the stream before he steadied himself.

"What was that for?" she snapped irritably. "I don't need your help."

"If you wanted me to let you fall in the water you should have said so," Charming replied. She glared at him, only to trip again on her next step. Charming caught her arm this time as she wobbled a bit.

"Thank you," she said tersely.

"My pleasure," Charming said, giving her an elaborate bow. She smiled a bit—the closest thing to a laugh he was going to get out of her. They continued to walk side by side, hurrying a bit to catch up with the others.

"So did Snow White abandon you for her handsome huntsman?" Regina sneered.

"Not at all. He needs her with him right now. That's all."

Regina frowned at his nonplussed response. She was trying to needle him, but it wasn't going to work. He was more than used to his step-sister-in-law by now.

"What about you? Are you doing alright?" he asked. "I'm sorry if you've been a bit ignored recently. It's been a difficult time for all of us."

Regina nodded. "I might not always look it, but I'm not heartless," she said. "I'm just as upset that this is our last mission as the rest of you."

"Going to miss out on having less opportunity to curse us all?" Charming teased lightly, unsure how she would take it. Fortunately she graced him with another smile.

"I'm going to miss having friends. Sorceresses aren't usually acceptable company in the realms."

"You'll always have us, Regina. All of us. You're family." He was glad she was willing to talk with him. Maybe it was because everyone else walked in front and her civility could go unnoticed.

"You're just saying that."

"Am I? I don't know. I thought family was defined by people you wanted to seriously maim more often than not."

"Seriously maim? I could turn you into a newt between one breath and the next, Highness. I'd watch your tongue if I were you."

Charming laughed a bit, then watched his company. They walked ahead of them, paying no attention to him and Regina. He let his eyes fall on each of them, instinctively counting each member. All still here. All still safe. For now. But which one could be injured this time? Which one might not come back? Which one would he fail to protect?

Regina laid a hand on his arm. "No's going to die," she said softly. "We're all going to come out of this. Together."

 

* * *

 

It was one of those beautiful yet strange fall days where the air felt like winter and the sun like summer. It was bright and the slight breeze made the fallen leaves dance in little circles over the sidewalk. By noon, the library felt like a cage rather than a sanctuary for Belle. Once again, she was glad to be the master of her own schedule as she took her lunch out to the park behind the elementary school.

Despite the nice weather, the park wasn't too crowded, for which Belle was thankful. There were a few couples walking together around the pond and a group of teens who could only be skipping school. There were several blankets spread out on the grass where mothers sat, their children running around them in their games. And the sound of music… Where…? There. Sitting on a bench was none other than Killian Jones and his guitar.

Belle smiled and headed toward him. He was playing his original song again. Its melody was sweet and perfect for the nice day.

" _I've sang with the stars,_

_Been in worlds far away,_

_Looked over a rainbow,_

_Held sunbeams of day._

_Oh I want you to see,_

_But try as I may,_

_You_ _'re as close as the stars,_

_But still worlds and worlds away._ _"_

He gave her a smile and a wink as she sat down on the bench next to him. She ate while he finished the song, closing her eyes and just glad to have the breeze on her face and the music beside her. She was able to properly relax like this. If she could, she would spend all day on that bench. But if Regina saw her here, news would get back to the mayor and Belle would be out of a job. Then again, if she was out of a job she could always see if Mr. Gold needed any help in his shop...

Killian's song ended and he set his guitar gently back in its case. "Hey there," he said.

"Hey," Belle replied, opening her eyes. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Same." He seemed a little out of it, sad almost. But Killian Jones was never sad.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just thinking."

"About what?" She tried to keep her tone light, even if he was really starting to worry her. This wasn't like him at all.

"I want to quit my job," he said finally, confidently. "At the docks, I mean. I wasn't meant to spend my life sweeping boardwalks and directing sailboats."

"What are you going to do instead?" Belle was unsure where he was going with this. Killian was notorious for being unable to hold any other job than the one he had. Every time he tried to quit and do something else, he ended up back at the docks within a month. No one else would even consider hiring him anymore. It wasn't that he was a bad worker—he was just a flirt and spent most of his time composing music in his head instead of paying attention.

"Music is my passion. I can't spend my days doing menial labor anymore. It's interfering with my music."

"What are you going to do instead?" She didn't think it would be very tactful to go ahead and point out that he'd been fired from every other job on the planet, even if he must know she was thinking it. "Like everyone else on the planet, a source of income is necessary."

"Which is why you're the librarian."

Belle sighed. "Yeah."

"We're in the same boat, love. You just happen to like your day job."

Belle sighed. His eyes were intense on her. "But about the docks," she said, bringing the focus off herself and her numerous failures at writing. "You need some sort of income."

"Unfortunately."

His voice was so dryly disappointed Belle couldn't help her laughter. "So what are you going to do if you quit your job?" she said once she'd calmed down.

"Why do you think I'm here today? I'm hoping someone's willing to give me something for the music."

"So you're begging?" Belle said, trying not to smile.

"Not exactly."

"How is this not begging?" she asked. "This isn't New York. We don't just have street performers in Storybrooke."

"I'm not begging. I'm… asking nicely for compensation for my talent."

"So refined begging?"

He glared at her. "No. I'm earning my money playing guitar. It counts."

A sudden thought came to her and she fiddled with her half-eaten sandwich nervously. "Do you want me to go then? Am I distracting you?"

"Eh, it's not like I was making anything before you showed up." He picked up the guitar again and began to pick a soothing pattern. His fingers moved, lightly, expertly. It took him no concentration—he was staring off over the small pond. It was like playing was a subconscious reaction to holding the instrument.

"So you're serious about quitting?" she asked, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah. I'm just going to try to save up a bit and then I'm gone."

"You do realize this is what you were saying six months ago, right?"

He sighed. "I know. But I hate this life. I don't want to clean some dock all day. I want to make music. So something has to change."

"You do make music. At Granny's and I know you have other gigs—"

"It's not the same and you know it," he said. The tone of his picking turned minor—soft and sad. Belle found it rather amusing: he probably didn't even realize he was playing, but all the same it changed to match his mood.

"You're not going to get what you're looking for here," she said. "You need to be in a big city like New York or Chicago."

Killian nodded. "But a move like that takes money. So we're back to square one with me playing in a park in the afternoon."

"You could just leave. Move to a city and start from nothing. It wouldn't be easy, but it's been done. I think you have the talent to make it."

He grinned and the music became joyful again, faster and with a bit of a swing. "Trying to get rid of me, love? I see how it is. It all meant nothing between us. You never really loved me."

"I don't want to know the story behind that comment," Mary Margaret said, coming up to them.

Killian stood and walked over to put his arm around her. "You see, Belle, it doesn't matter. Mary Margaret and I have something even more special."

"We do?" Mary Margaret asked, a smile growing on her face.

"Yes, we do."

"Alright then. Nice to see you too, Killian," she said. "Just don't tell David. He'd be devastated."

"It's our little secret, love." He let go of her and positively sauntered back to bench, picking up his guitar again. Mary Margaret walked over to stand in front of them, looking rather lost.

"Hey, are you alright?" Belle asked her.

"It's been a long day. I should head back. The kids are almost done with lunch."

"I'll come with you," Belle offered. "I need to head back to work anyway. Good luck with your music, Killian."

"I'll play every song in your honor," he said, winking.

Belle waited until they were out of Killian's range of hearing before she asked again, "Are you alright?"

"I guess," Mary Margaret sighed.

"What's up?"

"It's David's father," Mary Margaret said. "He was fine for months after David proposed, but now that we're starting wedding preparations, he's started up again."

"The same as usual?"

"Yeah. I'm not worthy of his son. Kathryn Price is such a better choice. David's a disappointment as a son. Et cetera, et cetera." She sighed yet again. "It doesn't bother me all that much, but it's taking a toll on David."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing that can be done. We just have to wait for him to accept that he can't do anything about this anymore. I need to turn here," she said, nodding to the left. "Have a nice day, Belle."

"You too. Feel free to stop by and vent if you need to. Or send David if you're tired of listening to him."

"I will."

Belle walked back to the library, not really paying attention to where she was going, lost in thought. Mr. Nolan had been a right pain about David and Mary Margaret from the beginning. She was just glad that their love was strong enough to get them through it. Those two were the ideal couple—of course, they had their problems like anyone else, but Belle had to admire their commitment.

She accidentally brushed against someone on her way past. She looked to apologize, but the words died in her throat. It was Mr. Gold.

He gave her a small nod and a half-smile and walked on, leaving Belle standing still in the street, her arm tingling where she'd touched him. Shaking herself out of shock, she hurried back to the library. Killian had said something that would work for her story…

 

* * *

 

"We're in the same boat, love," Hook said that afternoon. Belle had found herself walking beside him again. He was easiest to be with right now. Just a comforting friend. Someone to make her laugh. When he wasn't making odd comments like this.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Neither of us particularly wants to return from this journey."

"None of us do."

"Yes, but everyone else has something to go back to. Snow and Charming have each other, as do Graeme and Red. Regina has more than enough opportunity as a sorceress. You and I? Nothing." He took her arm in his. Belle let him, looking ahead and not replying. There was nothing to say. He was right. His recruitment to this company had saved him from the gallows on the charge of piracy. She had no family, no kingdom, and no fiancé. A woman of her position wouldn't get another chance to serve in the army like this. It was all over.

"I had the most bizarre dream last night," she said abruptly. There was no real reason to tell Hook about it, but it was something to talk about. Something that didn't involve depressing thoughts of the future.

"Really?"

"Yeah." She smiled to herself. "Don't tell anyone, but I think I fell asleep during my watch last night."

Hook leaned down wink and say, "Don't tell anyone, but I do that every single time." They laughed. Belle didn't usually walk with Hook—he was a terrible flirt. But when he wasn't trying to seduce her, he wasn't that bad. Thankfully he had enough tact not to make a move so soon after her… breakup with Graeme. "What was the dream?" he asked.

"That's what's weird. I'm not sure it was a dream. But it must have been." The man's skin. The irresistible lure of the dark forest. Her completely illogical actions.

"What do you mean you're not sure? Either you were sleeping—" He paused, obviously trying to think of what else she might have been doing. "Or you weren't," he finished lamely.

"I mean, I don't know if it really happened or if I dreamed it." she started. How could she describe it? When she had gone back this morning, there hadn't been any tracks in the forest. She'd even asked Graeme, who had only given her an odd look and said that the only people around the camp had been the seven of them. "It took place in our camp. Everything looked the same, but it was weird. Strange things were happening…"

"Like what?"

"I was keeping watch and heard something in the forest. So I went to check it out but I didn't take a torch or wake anyone up. Then there was this man in the forest. He wasn't quite human. His skin was scaly almost and glittered in the firelight. He was dressed strangely too, all in elaborate leather. He told me to be careful being out in the woods and then he vanished."

"Vanished?"

Belle nodded. "Just up into the air with a cloud of smoke. I don't really remember anything after that."

"Sounds like a dream to me, love," Hook said.

"It must be. But it felt so real." The warmth of the fire. The fear in the pit of her belly as she headed into darkness. The timbre of his voice. The surprise in his eyes upon seeing her—his eyes. Warm and brown, the irises too large to be quite normal. The hint of insanity there.

Hook looked at her closely, concerned. "Maybe you shouldn't be on watch for a while."

Belle sighed. "Yeah, well, I'm on for tonight again. First watch."

"I'll take it," he said. "You get some sleep. Don't let it bother you."

"I think it's going to bother me anyway." She ducked under a low-hanging branch. She couldn't get this dream out of her head. It had taken up residence with no sign of leaving any time soon.

"Don't dwell on it. It's just a dream." It was sweet of him to sound so concerned for her.

"Right," she said. "Only a dream."


	8. A Man, Not A Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flattering child, you shall know me,  
> See why in shadows I lie.  
> Look at your face in the mirror—  
> I am there inside!
> 
> ~"Angel of Music", Phantom of the Opera

By the third morning of their march, it wasn't quite so difficult anymore. None of them liked traveling through the woods when the memories of Castle life were so fresh. The first few days always felt worse, no matter how brief their rest had been. Belle suspected the weariness was mostly in her head, but that didn't make her any less glad those days were over.

Charming called them to a halt shortly after noon.

"We're about a half day's march from the border of the kingdom," he said. "I want to cross it in daylight, so we'll stop here for today."

Hook gave a cheer, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Regina. He started to swipe his hook at her, only to have Red grab his wrist. "Not necessary," she said waspishly.

Everyone set down their packs and began to make camp. It was a calming routine, and a loved one. Again, Belle was reminded that this was their last mission together. How many more times would they make camp before going their separate ways? How many days? How many mornings? How many steps left in their journey?

Belle fetched some water from the nearby stream they'd been following all day. The water was sweet and cool. She splashed some on her dirty face and tried to wash out the grit under her nails. There would be one upside to being back at the Castle for good: regular baths. She filled the rest of the waterskins and the cooking pot quickly, knowing better than to waste too much time alone. They were near enemy territory now. It wasn't safe this close to the border.

As she stood, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Water sloshed out of the pot and left wet stains on her boots as she twisted to look. There was nothing there. Maybe it had been a bird… but there were birds all over the place. Surely one wouldn't catch her attention like that or make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. It was probably nothing. Nonetheless, she hurried back to camp.

"Are you alright?" Snow asked as she took the pot from Belle. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I was startled by a bird, that's all," she lied easily. "It…" She trailed off as again she saw something move in the trees. It was a figure, a man. "Do you see that?" she asked Snow, pointing.

Snow turned and squinted hard, but turned back after a moment. "There's nothing there." She touched a hand to Belle's forehead. "Do you feel alright? Maybe you should lie down. You've been so tired—"

"I'll be right back," she said, getting up and nearly running from the camp in the direction of the shadowy figure in the woods. Once she was a ways from the camp, Belle slowed, looking again for the figure she had seen. The sounds of her comrades were distant, giving the illusion that she was alone in the vast forest. She looked around for the figure she'd seen twice now, but the only sight she was met with was the green leaves and moss on the trees.

Wait. There it was again.

Belle hurried towards it. It was definitely a man, but he was too far away for her to make out any distinct feature. The closer she came, the slower he walked away. Belle knew she should go back— or at the very least call for someone to come with her, but the pull of her curiosity was too strong. Somehow she knew that if she turned back, he would be gone by the time she returned with someone.

With every step she took, her mind screamed that this was a bad, stupid, idiotic, idea. These lands were dangerous. She shouldn't be off alone. He was trying to lead her away from the others. She didn't have to follow. But still she continued on.

The figure didn't stop until he came to the river. He stood facing it, his hands clasped behind his back, looking straight ahead. Upon closer look, she realized he was standing _in_ the river, but his boots were dry. The water parted subtly around him. He gave no indication that he knew she was there, though he must. Belle came up behind him slowly, cautiously. He was without a doubt the man she had seen in her dream—though now she was beginning to doubt that it had been a dream at all. He seemed so real. And he was waiting for her.

He looked different in the light of day. Not so mysterious, but dangerous all the same. She could now see the details of the high-collared leather jacket he wore and the true dull brown of his scraggly hair. He seemed familiar almost, like she had met him years and years before she'd ever seen him in her "dream".

"Well, dearie," he said suddenly. "I must say I'm impressed."

"Impressed?" That was the last word Belle would have expected him to use.

"You followed me," he said, still not looking back at her. "That's not supposed to happen when I'm invisible."

"You don't look very invisible to me," Belle pointed out, a little shocked that she had the nerve to do so. There was something powerful about this man. Something most people would cower before, but not her. She wasn't afraid even if she felt she had every reason to be.

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, the corner of his lips twitching towards a smile. "Not to you, dearie. Just to everyone else."

"Why?" she blurted without thinking. "I mean, is there a reason?" she corrected, trying to sound a little more polite.

"I have a theory or two," he said. Belle wanted to ask what they were, but his expression gave the distinct impression that he wasn't going to share.

"Who are you? Why were you there the other night? Why are you following us?" she asked.

His lips twitched again at the onslaught of questions. "Whoever said I was following you, dearie? What if you're the ones following me?"

"I'm not the one leading," Belle said. "And you just said Charming can't see you."

He looked her over curiously. "So I did."

Belle waited for him to answer her questions, but he seemed content to merely study her, so she asked again, "Who are you?"

"The Dark One," he replied. "The Sorcerer. The Crocodile. The Dealmaker. Call me what you like, dearie."

"The Crocodile?" Belle asked.

"It's a long tale and one that I do not wish to recount," he said. "The question is, who are you?"

"Belle of Avonlea," she said quickly. "But you said you were the Dark One. Isn't there more than one?"

He giggled again, high and maniacal. It would have been terrifying if Belle could have brought herself to be afraid. But he wasn't frightening to her. She… trusted him. Instinctively. She couldn't explain it, but she somehow knew without a doubt that he would never hurt her. "Not many people know that, dearie," he said.

"I'm King George's librarian," Belle said. "It's my business to know things a lot of people don't."

He smirked at that. "You are correct," he said after a moment. "There are two others: the Witch and the Mage."

"Is it true then?" she asked excitedly. The Dark Ones were such a mystery to the realms. No one truly knew who they were or the limits of their powers—if their powers even had limits. There was very little written record of them and it was nearly impossible to sort out the fact from the fiction in old wives' tales. "Are you the master of magic? Do you live forever? Is there truly nothing that can kill you? How long have you been a Dark One? Were you a man once?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he cut her off, shaking a long, glittering finger at her. "Some questions ought not to be asked, dearie."

Belle closed her mouth and took a breath before trying again. "Why were you there the other night? When I saw you."

"I'm not following you, if that's what you're asking," he said. Belle was rather mesmerized with his voice. Everything he said and did—every gesture, every word—was expressive. Every bit of it was dramatic and exaggerated, but at the same time a distraction from his real purpose. It was fascinating.

"Then what were you doing there?" she demanded. He probably noticed her staring at him, but he was staring right back. Strangely, she didn't mind much.

He gave another giggle. "Not your business, dearie."

Belle nodded. "It was real then? I wasn't dreaming? I'm not now?" It _felt_ real. It was strange and bizarre and rather frightening, but still, somehow, she _wanted_ it to be real. She trusted this man—for he certainly was a man. There was some connection between them.

"You're very much awake," he said softly. "I'm no illusion." He reached out and ran his fingers over Belle's cheek. She found her eyes caught by his. She couldn't make herself look away. They weren't quite human in appearance, but she could see the man behind them. He had plain brown eyes beneath all the golden shimmer.

"Belle!" It was Red's voice, shouting from nearby. The moment broke and Belle stepped back.

"Better run back, dearie," the Dark One said. "Your comrades are looking for you."

"Will I see you again?" The question came blurting from her lips before she could stop it.

"I…" he started, but as soon as his eyes met hers again, he stopped whatever he had been about to say. "Yes," he said simply.

Belle nodded, a little smile coming to her face. She turned to leave, but turned back after a few steps. "Wait, I never caught your name—"

But before she could finish, he vanished once more in a cloud of purple smoke.

 

* * *

 

Belle paused in her writing, unsure of what should come next. Of course, it was logical that Red would run up and take Belle back to camp, but then what? Was it even necessary to show that? She tapped her pen against her lower lip as she thought, idly glancing at the clock. 7:59. Was it really that late already?

She shut off the computer and gathered her things, sticking her notebook under her arm and her pen behind her ear. There was no one in the library to kick out, so she simply shut off the lights, taking a moment to stand there in the darkness with the books before heading out. She hadn't read anything in weeks. It was strange. She was usually inseparable from her beloved books. But her life had been consumed by writing, all of her spare time taken with telling instead of listening.

She locked the doors to the library and turned to leave, only to be met by her father. She jumped at the sudden sight of him, but then grinned. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"A father can't come to see his daughter?" he asked, pulling her into a hug. Belle stepped back as soon as he let her go.

"It's fine. It's nice to see you," she said. "But you never just stop by. What's going on?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," Moe admitted. "Are you doing anything week from Friday?"

"No." Well, she had been planning to write, but even without Ruby around to tell her so she knew that wasn't a good excuse.

"Great. Can you be at the Rabbit Hole at seven?"

Belle frowned. The Rabbit Hole didn't seem like her father's usual sort of place at all. "Alright," she said. It wasn't often that she got to spend time with her father now that she didn't live at home. So if he wanted to go to the Rabbit Hole, there she would go. She could survive one evening there. And anyway, it was likely that Killian would be playing that night.

"Great," Moe said. "I should get home then." He seemed to want to hug her goodbye but stopped himself. "Good night, Lizzy." Then he walked off into the night, leaving Belle rather confused in front of the library.

"Okay then," she said aloud to the night and started off on her way home.

Storybrooke was quiet this time of night—the nightlife was pretty much nonexistent. It was nice. There was no one but her and the leaves and the occasional streetlight. Just peace and quiet.

There was still warm light spilling from the windows of Mr. Gold's pawnshop as she came to it. She didn't understand why he bothered to keep open so late. She had never seen anyone in there anyway. It seemed that the only contact he had with the people of Storybrooke was on rent day. (She certainly hadn't considered getting a proper apartment instead of a basement just so she would have an excuse to talk to him once a month. Of course not.)

As she passed the shop, her head automatically turned toward the window. Just like every other night—

Belle almost tripped over her own feet from shock. There was someone else in there.

It was Cora Mills.

She stood facing Gold, talking softly. He had come out from around the counter to talk to her and they were barely a foot apart. Why she there? Belle had thought the mayor hated Mr. Gold. But there she was.

Without fully realizing it, Belle stopped to watch. They were having a heated discussion. Gold smiled at Cora, but it didn't really reach his eyes. It wasn't forced, but… dark. Belle couldn't see Cora's face properly from where she stood, but she was surprised the mayor wasn't running in terror at that smile. The gentle pawnbroker Belle was accustomed to glimpsing was gone.

While Cora was speaking, Gold's eyes drifted from her to look past her shoulder. They locked with Belle's. Belle gasped and felt her cheeks burn red. Cora must have noticed the change in Gold's expression, for she started to turn. Belle tore herself away from the scene and ran down the street towards her home.

 

* * *

 

Once again, Belle took the second watch of the night. Charming had been reluctant to let her keep watch at all, but she had insisted that it was her turn and she could handle it. So he woke her at midnight like she asked, whispering that she should wake him again if she felt too sleepy. Belle had nodded, even though she knew she would do no such thing.

It had been a long day. When Red had brought her back to the camp that afternoon, everyone had been frantic with worry. Snow had been alarmed enough when she suddenly ran off alone, but when she didn't return for nearly an hour, they'd sent Graeme and Red out after her. She'd spent the rest of the evening failing to convince everyone that nothing was wrong and she'd only gone for a little walk and lost track of time. Finally she had peace. Everyone else was asleep, it was just her.

She poked the fire with a stick. If she could get the Dark One out of her head, everything would be lovely. But still the questions surged through her mind. She supposed it was the librarian in her. She just needed to know. He'd vanished in front of her twice now—how did that work? Had he always been the Dark One? How did one become a Dark One anyway? Was the title of Sorcerer part of all that or was it separate? He had barely listened to her questions earlier.

The feeling that she wasn't alone came over her. The back of her neck prickled and she stilled, slowing her breathing and trying to listen. All was silent.

"Hello, dearie."

Belle jumped to her feet and turned to see the Dark One behind her. He was standing ramrod straight, as always, but this time with the air that he'd been there a while. Just waiting for her to see him. Their eyes met, and Belle felt her fingers involuntarily spasm around the handle of the dirk she kept at her side. She grabbed it on instinct and pointed it straight at his glittering chest. It was surprisingly steady in her hands. "I _told_ you not to sneak up on people."

The Dark One giggled. "I wouldn't have scared you if you'd been doing your job," he said. He spoke with his hands, waving them around in an elaborate manner. As if his words would have seemed empty if merely spoken.

Another shiver crept down her spine when he winked at her. She raised the dirk a bit to point it at his face. "You really are following us." There was no longer a question of that. "Why?"

One hand dropped to his side, the other pointed over his shoulder. "Want me to leave, dearie?"

"No!" The word burst from her, louder and more desperate than she expected. The dirk slipped from her fingers and hit the ground. She took a breath. "You can stay." _Please_.

He paused, head tilted. "Very well, dearie," he said, stooping and rising again in a fluid motion. Belle thought he was bowing until he presented her with the dirk, hilt first. "I'll stay."

She hooked the dirk to her belt and he sat on a rock near the fire, hands loosely clasped, one ankle resting up on his knee. The self-satisfied smirk he gave her made Belle wonder if he had heard her mental "please". He couldn't read minds, could he? She bit her lip in attempt to keep herself from blurting anything else out. It wouldn't do to get herself cursed for saying the wrong thing. Still, there was so much to ask. Who knew how long he had lived? He probably knew the answers to thousands of age-old mysteries.

"I can hear your questions from here, dearie," he drawled after several minutes.

"You can read my mind?"

"No." He laughed then pointed a finger over the fire at her. "But I hardly think you'd bite your tongue without reason."

Belle gasped to realize that she had indeed been physically biting down on her tongue to restrain her speech. "Oh." Her hands were fidgeting by her sides, impossible to keep still under his gaze. Jerkily, she resumed her seat on the stump across from him. "Well, yes, I have questions. What—"

"Ah." He held up a finger. "I never said you could ask."

"Well then what was the point of mentioning them?" Belle said crossly, forgetting for a moment that she was speaking to the Dark One and not an old friend.

He laughed again. It was strange that Belle didn't find it frightening anymore. "I'll make you a deal. I'll ask you three questions and you'll answer honestly. If you answer to my satisfaction, I'll return the favor."

"I doubt there's anything you don't already know the answer to," Belle said. "I'm the mere mortal here."

"I'm the Dark One, dearie, not God."

She grinned. "Alright then. Three questions."

"The deal is struck." In a flash he was up and pacing around the fire. Belle wasn't sure if he was actually thinking or making a show of it for her sake. "Who are you?" he asked finally.

Belle was taken aback. She didn't know what she expected him to ask, but it certainly wasn't that. "You know that already."

"Belle of Avonlea, the King's librarian—they are titles," he said, waving them off. "They don't tell me who you are."

She stared into the fire, letting him pace around her. "My name is Belle," she said, feeling ridiculous. Surely the Dark One would already know anything he wanted about her. But what else was there to say? She wasn't anyone special. What was he looking for? He was standing still now, staring intently at her, as if he was waiting, hoping for something. A small nod of his head urged her on. "I'm one of the Prince's elite company. I'm an orphaned and landless princess. I'm an oddity who reads too many books. I used to have a fiancé, but not anymore…" She trailed off. It was basic, obvious. And he still looked as if he was waiting for something. "Well what do you want me to say?" she exclaimed.

"I think that was enough," he said as if nothing was wrong. But he was hiding something there. She'd caught a glimpse of it.

"Next question."

"Patience, dearie." He waved a finger at her in a scolding manner that only served to make her smile. After thinking and pacing for a moment more, he said, "Tell me about your comrades."

"That's not a proper question. I won't have you try to cheat."

"Very well then." He looked almost impressed. "Who are your comrades?"

Again, Belle was caught off guard. Why did he want to know these things? "Well, there's Hook over there." She pointed to where the former pirate was sprawled on his blankets, snoring softly. "He's my friend—he's everyone's friend really. He's a flirt but he usually doesn't mean anything by it." _You don_ _'t have to worry about him_ , her mind finished. Wait. Where did that come from? She forced her mind away from strange thoughts and continued. "Next to him is Graeme, the Huntsman. He… He's… He _was_ —" her voice froze in her throat when she really looked at him again. His head rested on his arm, fingers gently curled on top of the covers that they should have been sharing… She took a deep breath to regain her composure. "He and I were childhood sweethearts. But that's all over now." Her voice was too sad, too wistful. Why wasn't she over this yet? It would be easier if she was. She pointed to the next shelter. "Then there's Prince Charming. Well, his real name is James, but we all call him Charming. It's Snow's fault, really… She's next to him, Snow White." Very much next to him. Only because Hook wasn't on watch, that was for sure. "They're happily married. And then there's Red and Regina."

Belle looked around once more, nodding. There was more, of course. She couldn't really sum up her comrades and do them all justice in one night. Anyways, she'd answered his question. She looked up to see he was grinning at her again.

"Surely there's more to them than just a name, dearie."

She almost sighed. "It's a long story," she muttered. Not one she wanted to deal with.

"It's a long night."

She gave him a mock-glare. He made no sign of caring, only settled back down on his rock with an unimpressed flick of his fingers. So she sighed and began. "As you know, I'm the princess of Avonlea. When I was thirteen, our lands were taken by the ogres. There was no warning or chance to stop it. I managed to escape, but my father was killed in battle. My governess took me to Anorien, the realm of King Leopold. When I arrived, I met Princess Snow White and her friend, Rose Red—she hates being called that though. It can only ever be Red. She was a peasant girl that Snow had befriended.

"Both of them welcomed me, but not the third girl there: Regina. She was adopted by King Leopold when she was orphaned at ten. Her mother left when she was a baby and her father… there was a tragic accident. She was practicing magic and it got out of hand…" She trailed off. Regina was still haunted by her father's death. Sometimes Belle wondered what their lives would have been like if it hadn't happened. Would Regina still be so hateful?

"Belle?"

She started, realizing the Dark One was still listening. He'd said her name. It sounded strange coming from his lips. As if for a second he'd forgotten to speak with that high-pitched, giddy voice. She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. Where was I?" she forced out a short laugh.

His teasing manner was back in an instant. "Magic getting out of hand, I believe…"

Belle nodded and launched back into her story. "The year before I came to Anorien, Regina actually tried to kill Snow. She was fourteen and Snow was twelve. Regina said later it was because she was jealous of Snow's looks, her position, her friendship with Red. Apparently that was cause enough to kill her. Anyway, it failed and Snow gained another friend because of it: Graeme. He was a few years older than us and became like a brother to her. So Red, Snow, and I became best friends and Regina hated us. It only grew worse when Graeme and I fell in love—she always was trying to flirt with him."

"And yet you're comrades."

"Barely. Without Hook and Charming we'd all have killed each other by now. We have a flimsy truce for the sake of the kingdom," she said.

"It didn't look so flimsy to me."

"I suppose… It's hard to explain. There's hurt and hate there, but I'd still trust Regina in a fight or to keep watch. We don't have much of a choice in this war. We have to work together. Without the war, I hate to think what would have happened. That's one reason I don't want to go back after this mission. We won't have a reason to be friends anymore."

 _And once the war is over, there won_ _'t be anything to stop Regina from killing us all_ , she thought. "Why me?" she demanded. "Why us?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, dearie."

"You're the Dark One. Surely you have better things to do than follow me around." She was surprised by the smile in her voice. Was it coy? Certainly not. Flirting with the Dark One was the worst idea she could think of.

He laughed. "Whoever said I was following you, dearie?"

"This is the third time you've appeared to me. I think that counts as following," she said, grinning. "Why?"

He shrugged. An admission. "It's not every day a little chit of a girl can see invisible things."

"Or men," she corrected.

"I'm not a man, dearie." He sounded sad all of a sudden. The pain in his voice had years behind it.

"If you're not a man, then what are you?"

"I'm the Dark One. Surely you've heard the stories. I'm a monster."

"And they also say you eat young children in the night," she pointed out.

"Perhaps I do." He tried to laugh again, but it didn't sound right. It lacked any sort of real emotion. There was just that wistful pain.

"You don't. Just because you don't look like a man, that doesn't mean you aren't one," she said.

He shook his head. "Believe what you like, dearie."

"You don't seem very monstrous to me."

He shook his head, giving a small almost-laugh. A man's laugh.

"How did you become the Dark One?" she asked.

"Oh… I'm not going to answer that one, dearie. Some things shouldn't be said aloud."

"That question doesn't count then," she said sternly.

"Of course not." He sounded offended, but looked amused at her instruction.

"Right…" She thought. There were so many things she had wanted to ask, but now that she had a limit, they all seemed to have fled from her mind. "Why do you look like…"

"This?" he supplied, his expressive hands gesturing to all of himself.

"Yes," she said, wondering if it was too personal a question. He gave a wry sort of laugh that made her grin again. (How many ways were there to laugh? How long had he lived to master them all?)

"All magic comes with a price." The spring was back in his voice—it seemed like something he had said a thousand times. So much that his lips had memorized the exact feel and inflection of the words.

"That's all you're going to tell me?"

"Yes. And I suppose you don't want that question to count either."

"You're not playing fair." She almost gave a mock-pout before stopping herself. How crazy was she? _Pouting_ at the Dark One. Where was all this coming from? Why couldn't she seem to act rationally around him?

"Perhaps you're not asking good questions. One more, dearie."

She took a deep breath and thought. "How did you manage to sneak up on me?"

"Magic." The word seemed different coming from him than from Regina. With Regina there was always a hint of bitterness there. The Dark One seemed to see it as something exciting. As if it was all a grand adventure.

"And you can just vanish and reappear anywhere?"

"That's right, dearie." He grinned, and purple smoke started to seep from the ground and engulf him. Belle still heard his last few words through it: "Absolutely anywhere."

When the smoke faded, he was gone. It seemed things always ended that way with him.

 

* * *

 

Belle hummed along with the music floating from her laptop as she ran her fingers through her damp hair. She had woken on time for once, feeling refreshed. The specific recollections of her pleasant dream faded as she woke, but the sense of peace from it remained. She hummed with Christine Daaé, imagining she was in a dressing-room of the Paris Opera, not a cinderblock basement in Maine. Maybe she could even do with a little makeup today. It was a good day. Why not? She dug around in her drawer for mascara, still singing. There it was.

Just as she reached Christine's next part, the music stopped mid-note. Frowning, the daydream broken, Belle set the black tube down on the dresser. The lights were still on, so it couldn't be a tripped breaker…

She turned to go investigate, but stopped when a sudden movement in the mirror caught her eye. She stared for a moment, her lips parting in surprise. Yet still, when she turned, there it was, billowing up in the corner of her bedroom:

A column of purple smoke.


	9. A Figment of the Imagination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel of Music, guide and guardian,  
> Grant to me your glory!  
> Angel of Music, hide no longer,  
> Come to me, strange Angel!
> 
> ~"Angel of Music" Phantom of the Opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice: Please keep in mind that the idea of plot of this story was created 4 years ago-before OUAT was first aired. I'm writing it as an ouat fanfic for worldbuilding purposes, among other reasons. There's a reason I said assume nothing. (It was originally a more obscure fanfic for a different fandom.) Needless to say, I greatly enjoy hearing all your comments and theories! Please continue to send them!  
> Thank you to all my readers and comment-ers and elli.O. I would like to add the I do not own three lines of this chapter, they are from Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, but fit the scene perfectly.  
> ****************************************************  
> Previously, in Chapter 8:
> 
> [Belle] turned to go investigate, but stopped when a sudden movement in the mirror caught her eye. She stared for a moment, her lips parting in surprise. Yet still, when she turned, there it was, billowing up in the corner of her bedroom:  
> A column of purple smoke.  
> 

It couldn't be. She must be dreaming. But there he was in her room. Glittering skin, leather clothes, infuriating smirk, all just as clear as she'd seen them in her mind's eye. He was grinning at her, waiting for her to say something. But what did one say when one's character who was based on one's crush suddenly appeared in one's room?

To cover her surprise and confusion, she turned back to the mirror and picked up the mascara again. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away. Not that it wouldn't be fascinating to talk with him, but she was crazy enough as it was without talking to her characters. Anyway, she knew enough about the Dark One to know that if he had something to say, he would say it without her prompting.

It was interesting: of all her characters, he was the one to appear. She wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in her story anyway. He only had a few scenes left before everything got back on track for the Snow White fairy tale. He was a tool for backstory, she'd decided. Just there so Belle could sum up past events before the plot really got in swing. Maybe she'd give him a heroic death to get him out of the way.

Or maybe that's why he was here: to plead his case so she wouldn't kill him off.

If that was it, too bad. He was her character, this was her story. She wasn't going to give up on a plot she'd waited years for just because a minor character who wasn't even supposed to be there didn't want to be offed.

Belle lifted the mascara to her eye, only to have it replaced with a small puff of the purple smoke and the sound of a high-pitched giggle. She turned around to glare at the Dark One, hands on her hips. He was now seated on her bed and looking very pleased with himself. There was no sign of the mascara.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Ah, ah." He laughed. "You had much more respect last night, _dearie_."

"Last night?" This was the first time she'd seen him outside of her mind. Or maybe this was all in her head and she was just going crazy.

"Beside the fire. You told me your story," he said as if he were explaining it to a small child. "Don't try to tell me she's not you. She is."'

"We share a name, that's all," Belle said shortly. She was beginning to regret naming her character Belle, but it was the name of the girl from _Beauty and the Beast_. Even then, nothing else would fit the character. She'd tried to change it—at first she hadn't even noticed it was the same name until Ruby pointed it out—but every other name seemed wrong in place of "Belle".

"Much more than that, dearie." He sprung up and came to stand behind her. She forced her eyes away from him. He was her _character_. There was no use ogling him, no matter how good he looked in leather.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, hoping to get a straight answer out of him. He simply grinned. He must know how infuriating he was being. "Well, whatever it is, I don't have time to deal with it. You'll make me late for work."

"You decide when you're late, dearie."

She paused. "How do you know that?" she asked carefully. Maybe he really was inside her head.

"Weren't you just thinking I'm inside your head?"

Fine. No straight answers then. "Whatever." She left him to follow her or not and headed to her kitchen. She still liked to open the library at a decent hour every day, so she did need to leave. As usual, there wasn't too much in her cupboards—why go shopping when there was writing to be done? Usually she ate at Granny's, but the prices weren't affordable for every day. She found some bread and stuck it in the toaster. It would have to do for now.

The Dark One had indeed followed her and now leaned against the wall, watching her closely. His gaze was steady and deep, never wavering from her body. She tried to avoid his eyes, knowing that if she faced him she'd turn bright scarlet. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Why not?" He grinned, roving his eyes slowly over her.

Belle took a deep breath to restrain herself from hitting him. "It makes me feel uncomfortable."

His grin widened as he continued to watch her, just to be contrary. Belle fidgeted, straightening her skirt and looking over at the clock. Anywhere but at him.

The toast popped up at that moment, and Belle hurried to get it. His stare had broken at the sudden noise. "Do you want some?"

"What?" he seemed totally surprised by her address.

She put the toast on a plate and held it out to him. "It's called food. You eat it. Do you want some?"

"Very well," he said irritably, not amused by her sarcasm. Served him right. It was so odd to see him like this. Here he was, the Dark One, all dressed in leather and silk, eating toast with butter in her kitchen.

She smeared her own toast with peanut butter and honey, then went to sit at her desk. The Dark One again followed, settling easily on her couch without so much of a glance to ask permission. "If you're here to plead for your life, it won't work," Belle told him.

The effect of his signature cackle was somewhat lessened by the piece of toast in his hand. "You can't kill me, dearie. You don't know how."

"I'll figure it out."

He smirked and gave her a pointed look that clearly said _I_ _'d like to see you try_. Why had she written him to be so confusing? "But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?" There was no other reason she could think of. Unless he thought it would be fun to annoy her. It seemed out of character for him though. He was the Dark One. He didn't do anything without reason. She waited for him to answer, but he simply ate more of his toast. "Look, I don't have time to play twenty questions with you. What are you doing here?"

He looked up momentarily to smirk at her before going back to his studious consumption of toast.

"I can't have figments of my imagination following me to work," she grumbled.

"If I'm merely a 'figment of your imagination', who would know?"

He had a point, but she glared at him anyway. Logic was not her friend when fictional characters were showing up in her apartment and eating her food.

On the end table, her laptop flickered to life, the music coming back on. Belle had forgotten it had shorted out. Apparently it had decided it was done sleeping and going to be useful. Great. Now she was personifying her computer.

" _In sleep he sang to me_ ," Belle sang softly with the recording. " _In dreams he came_ —" She broke off. The Dark One was merely staring at her again. "You know what I just realized?" she said.

"What is that, dearie?"

"You need a name." She'd been trying to think of one for him. After all, she couldn't easily go around calling him "Dark One" forever. He had been a man once. What had he been called? Everything she tried just didn't suit him.

"What makes you think I don't already have one?"

"Then what is it?"

"Ah ah ah." He pointed at her—just like he'd done to Belle in her story. It was disconcerting to see him do it again now. It made it too… real. He was really here. Her character. In her living room. Talking with her. How many writers dreamed of this?

"What's your price?" she asked. There always was one with him. Dealmaker. He wasn't called that on whim.

"My presence."

Belle was surprised. He wanted to follow her around? "Not all the time."

"Whenever I appear."

"Alright," she said. "But not in my bedroom." He looked confused. She felt her cheeks warm. "I want one private place. That room." _Unless I invite you_ … And now even her own mind was against her.

"Deal." He set his now empty plate down on the side table and stood. He smiled wickedly and gave an elegant bow. "Rumpelstiltskin."

 

* * *

 

Belle's latest encounter with the Dark One weighed heavily on her mind. She hadn't told anyone about it, of course. The secret felt like a stone in her chest, one she was certain that anyone could see if they looked at her properly. Snow had been giving her worried looks for days, and now was turning her head to peer back every quarter hour or so.

Belle could feel the dark circles under her eyes from restless sleep. For once, she wished Snow wouldn't be so mothering to everyone. She didn't want everyone concerned about her. She was fine. She just had one of the most powerful men in all the realms following her and being generally enigmatic and she really, really didn't want to analyze what she might be feeling towards him.

Soon after noon, Red came to a sudden stop. Everyone kept walking for a minute before they noticed. Her face was pale and her eyes were filling with tears. Abandoning her own troubles, Belle ran to her, and put her arm around her friend's shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. Snow came to Red's other side. It took both her and Belle to keep Red from falling over when her knees gave out a moment later. They let her sink to the ground gently, sitting on either side. The tears began to fall down Red's face. Still, she looked off into the distance, not really seeing any of them.

"I just realized…" she murmured.

"Realized what?" Snow asked.

"Peter." Her voice broke on the name and she was suddenly sobbing, her whole body heaving in the effort. She folded over, hiding her face in the ground. Belle continued to hold her and stroked her hair.

"It's the fourth day…" Red gasped. "Three days… hung at dawn… I didn't realize…"

Belle felt tears start down her own face. The rest of the company looked just as distraught. None of them had remembered yesterday morning. They had been too busy getting on with the march. None of them had even thought…

Belle had always liked Peter. He was a good, kind man, if a little radical in his beliefs. He was a good soldier and would have made a fine husband for Red, no matter what her grandmother thought. He didn't deserve to die for King George's political schemes. Red's sobs echoed through the forest as Belle and Snow held her.

"Maybe we should stop here for the day," Regina said quietly. Charming nodded. Graeme gave Red one last look, as if he was wondering whether or not to stay, but then headed off into the forest. Snow handed Hook Red's pack to put with the others and then her arms went back around Red.

Red was shaking under Belle from the force of her sobs. Snow's arms were around both of them, Belle's and Snow's tears making little dark spots on Red's cloak. Peter was dead. And somehow this whole mess hadn't yet felt as real as it did in that moment.

 

* * *

 

In a rare show of interest, there were actually people waiting outside the library when Belle arrived. She let them in hurriedly, her fingers fumbling with the keys. The Dark One—no, _Rumpelstiltskin_ —stood behind her, invisible to everyone but her. He remained at her side the rest of the day observing everything she did—surprisingly without comment. She wasn't sure why the whole of Storybrooke suddenly wanted to read, but by the end of the day her feet were aching and she was sure her hair must have doubled in volume since morning.

After she shut the front doors behind the last person, she leaned against them, sighing in relief. A whole class of eighth graders had needed the same book. Someone had ripped pages out of another encyclopedia. Every computer in the places had spazzed out. And why didn't anyone understand the concept of quiet in the library?

She gathered a stack of books from the circulation desk. She'd shelve them and then go home. Make a cup of tea and watch reruns of _Doctor Who_. Something like that. She slipped each book lovingly back into its spot on the shelves, replacing those that had been mis-shelved throughout the day. She flipped off each light as she went until she returned to the main desk. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she shut off the computer and last of the lights.

Only to run into someone as soon as she turned around. With a yelp, she jumped back, fumbling for the lights.

It was Rumpelstiltskin. She'd forgotten he was there. She glared at him and turned the lights back off, pushing him out of the way. "Are you just going to follow me everywhere?" she snapped.

"Yes."

She yanked the door open and shut it again in his face, not particularly caring if he was offended. He was her character, he could deal with it. She locked the library up and set off down the street, rolling her eyes at the purple smoke behind her. The tap of the Dark One's boots on the pavement was not quite in time with her own steps.

 

* * *

 

It seemed forever before Red's sobs calmed to quiet tears as she clung to her friends. Snow nodded to Belle, who took the chance to leave. Red would be fine with Snow for a few minutes. Belle took both her pack and Snow's to one of the shelters. Hot tears pricked at her eyes and she rubbed them away. She wouldn't cry. Not now, when Red was so distraught. She needed her friends to be strong.

She nearly didn't notice Regina standing beside her until she bumped into her.

"Is she going to be alright?" Regina asked quietly.

"Her love was just executed," Belle said. "I think it's going to be a while."

Regina just nodded and stepped back. "I'm sorry."

"Tell her that," Belle said. Another tear leaked from her eye and she brushed it away. "It would do her more good than me."

Regina looked nervous at the thought, but she nodded again. Her hand came up as if to touch Belle's shoulder in comfort, but then the sorceress thought better of it and the hand dropped loosely to her side.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately, Rumpelstiltskin seemed to quickly grow bored with following Belle. For the time being, at least. She still caught glimpses of him, but he didn't try to talk to her again. He would be walking on the other side of the street or leaning against a bookcase several rows away. He had a permanent smirk on his face and would wink at her every time their eyes met as if to say _Look at me, I_ _'m here but no one else knows_.

Belle was glad for the privacy to go about her life and concentrate on things besides him. Mostly. She missed him. That one day he had spent with her in the library had been better from his presence. He's always been there at her side, silently comforting. Perhaps making a face at a particularly stupid patron. It was nice. Her little secret. One of her characters following her around.

He was her favorite to write. Maybe it was because she couldn't figure him out. It was as if his true self was hidden away beneath leather and scales and melodrama where she could only catch tiny glimpses of it. His existence was purely accidental. She hadn't meant for him to be there at all. But now here he was and he was funny and very helpful when she needed to have Belle explain some backstory.

The quiet chatter in the diner was a comfort as Belle hurried in. The weather had taken a true turn for cold in the past few days and she hadn't remembered to change her clothing to match. The sun was bright, but there was a cruel nip in the wind that pierced through everything but the thickest of coats. She rubbed her hands over her arms as she slid into a booth across from Mary Margaret. It had been much too long since they'd been able to spend some proper time together. They each saw Ruby regularly when they came to the diner for food. Even though the elementary school and the library were across the street from each other, their paths only crossed during storytime and that was limited to mutual attempts at crowd control and didn't leave much time for socializing.

"I went ahead and ordered for you," Mary Margaret said. "I don't have long before I have to get back to school."

"Thanks. I'm glad we can do this. It's been too long."

They talked of little, inconsequential things until their food came, and still as they ate. It was nice. Normal. Something Belle desperately needed after… well, after Rumpelstiltskin. There was no sign of him throughout the meal. Belle hoped he wasn't off causing trouble—but how could he? He was in her head. She would certainly control when he appeared and to whom.

The door to the diner opened and Belle's breath caught in her throat. It was Mr. Gold. He made his way to a table in the opposite corner of the diner, but still within Belle's line of sight.

"…so he invited Kathryn for dinner the other night—Belle, are you even listening to me?" Mary Margaret said, a slight grin forming on her face as she noticed where Belle was looking.

"Yes. I'm fine. David's father invited Kathryn to dinner. Got it."

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Ruby and I have been wondering when you'd admit it to yourself," she said.

"What?"

"Your crush who just walked in the door and is sitting over there." She nodded to Gold, who was fortunately not looking their direction. Belle tore her gaze away from him once more. His sunglasses weren't doing her any good. And his coat…

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Deny it if you wish, but we all know…"

"What happened with Kathryn?" Belle asked quickly. She had no desire to discuss Mr. Gold with Mary Margaret when she'd never even spoken to the man and he was sitting twenty feet away from them looking devastatingly attractive.

Mary Margaret sighed. "It could have been worse. Dinner was fine and she made her excuses quickly enough afterward."

"But Mr. Nolan is still set on her and David," Belle finished. Mary Margaret nodded sadly. "If it makes you feel better, it's not going to happen. You and David will be married in a few months and then he won't be able to do anything about that."

"I suppose." She took a sip of her water, staring off into space. Belle snuck another glance at Gold. "What about you? Is your story still coming along?"

Belle nodded. "Just the usual. I'm amazed I'm still inspired for it."

"To be honest, so am I."

"Hey!" Belle grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I actually had a new character appear: Rumpelstiltskin."

"What's he going to do?"

Belle shrugged. "Right now he's just helping with backstory. You know, so Belle can have someone to talk to. I don't think he'll have a major long-term role or anything. He's just fun to write."

Mary Margaret nodded and glanced at the clock. "I should go if I don't want to be late. I'll see you later."

"It was nice talking to you."

Mary Margaret nodded before running out of the diner. Belle took the last sip of her iced tea. She had the last bit of backstory to write. She paid Ruby up at the counter and left the diner, sneaking one last glance at Gold in his most excellent sunglasses.

 

* * *

 

Belle felt bad sneaking off like this. Red was still sitting limply by the fire, her face streaked with tear stains she couldn't be bothered to wipe away. Being there for her friend should have been Belle's priority. But he'd been there in the woods, watching her.

She didn't tell anyone she was going and no one asked. Snow and Regina were busy bickering over how to make some supper. (It was a pointless argument, but they didn't see that. It always was and they never did.) Graeme was off hunting, while Hook and Charming had a mock duel. It was all too easy to slip away into the woods after the Dark One.

He was just out of sight and earshot of the camp and settled into leaning against a tree. His arms crossed over his chest and he regarded her with a smirk.

"Did you want me to follow you for a reason or did you just miss me?" Belle asked. It was going out on a limb, assuming such things, but something about him made her more daring, more willing to risk it.

"Who said I wanted you to follow me?" He giggled and Belle's face broke out into a grin. He probably wasn't going to turn her into a snail for that comment.

"You looked awful friendly with Regina a while back," he said. It sounded like teasing, but Belle could hear the question. _What happened?_

Belle sighed. She—

 

* * *

 

Belle sat back in her chair. The scene wasn't working. It should be simple: Belle goes out and meets Rumpel again. They end up talking and she tells him the full story behind Regina and Snow's feud. Simple. But it wasn't coming. No matter how many times she tried to write it, it didn't end up well. Belle sounded out of character. Rumpelstiltskin sounded out of character.

She took a long sip from the cup of tea next to her. For now she'd skip the scene. She'd write it later. Maybe that's all that needed to be done. Maybe she just had to follow her instincts, which were clearly telling her that this scene didn't belong.


	10. A Beautiful Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But in his eyes, all the sadness of the world.  
> Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.
> 
> ~"Why Have You Brought Me Here?", Phantom of the Opera

The next week passed too slowly for Belle, yet at the same time too quickly. It should have been a normal sort of week: work, sleep, writing, meeting up with Ruby for coffee and Mary Margaret for lunch, worrying about her upcoming dinner with her father, sneaking glances at Mr. Gold through the Pawn Shop windows.

Her story was progressing nicely. Deleting the scene with Snow's backstory had proved a good decision. Everything had flowed smoothly from there on out. Well, as smoothly as it ever did. She felt a little lost in her own world, unsure of how things were going to play out. Fortunately, that didn't slow her writing. She had tried to stop writing at work though—after all, what if the Mayor were to come in? She certainly wasn't being paid to write a novel.

Every day, she watched the clock anxiously, waiting for closing time so she could hurry home and write. It was peaceful, therapeutic. There was something calming about being lost in another world, all her worries gone. It was just her and her characters. She loved the feeling of words on her tongue that she whispered to herself as her fingers tapped their merry rhythm on the keys.

The company hadn't done a whole lot over the past few days in their story. There was a small incident where they thought there were ogres around but it was just a bear in the forest. Charming and Snow shared a sweet moment when left alone at camp and Graeme and Red were no longer quite as bitter towards each other. Red slowly recovered from Peter's death—which is to say, she wasn't _recovered_ , just better at hiding her pain. Regina spent some time internally fuming about Snow and Belle and Red. Belle was sneaking off to see Rumpelstiltskin at every opportunity—usually while she scouted ahead or during her watches. They were more friendly now.

Still, Snow's backstory didn't seem to want to be written. So Belle was writing what she felt like. Her favorite things were Rumpelstiltskin's friendship with Belle and Regina's conversations with her comrades. It was odd. Regina was much friendlier than Belle had intended. She wasn't a pure evil villain. It was annoying, but the character simply would not cooperate. Then again, that was also true of most of Belle's characters right now.

As for her imaginary friend, he was still there. True to his role of least cooperative inside the story, Rumpelstiltskin had taken to appearing on her way to work. He'd hang around throughout the day, happy to comment on everything and exchange banter with her when no one else was there to hear. Thankfully he left her alone in the evenings. He didn't seem to enjoy watching her write very much. It was better that way. He might be helpful to bounce ideas off of, but Belle had the feeling that he would be very distracting if she tried to write with him around.

He surprised her Tuesday night by following her down the street in the evening on her way to the grocery. Storybrooke only had one, and thankfully the prices were fair and there was a decent selection. She had finally grown tired of empty cupboards.

Belle went about her shopping methodically. There was no use in wasting too much time. She wanted to write tonight, so this necessity had to be taken care of as soon as possible.

Rumpelstiltskin wandered along behind her. Belle was surprised to find him noticeably uninterested in anything around him. Actually, now that she thought of it, he'd never seemed very interested in her world. But why not? Surely he had never seen most of what was around them in the Enchanted Forest. Even the Dark One's powers shouldn't give him the ability to cross worlds. The only reason he could now was because of her overactive imagination. "Rumpelstiltskin?" she asked, muttering under her breath so she didn't attract the attention of the other shoppers.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering something," she whispered.

"You'll have to speak louder than that if you want any hope of being heard." He sounded entirely too gleeful about it.

"We're in public. I can't just shout at you. Do you want them to think I'm crazy?"

"Possibly."

Belle turned to glare at him, only to realize that attracted more attention than talking to herself did. "I said that it's strange," she said a bit louder. "You don't seem too bothered by... any of this." She gestured around at the brightly colored products lining the shelves.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, dearie."

"You're... You're in my head..." She sighed and started over. "You're not from this world. Nothing in the Enchanted Forest has anything like this world. Why aren't you terribly confused by everything?"

"Are you trying to control me?" he said. He sounded terribly amused by the idea and more than a tad bit suggestive.

"You're my character. I control you whether you want me to or not," Belle pointed out. His only response was to smirk at her. Now she was certainly wishing she'd thought up a different character to be her imaginary friend. As good as he looked in leather, the Dark One was much too infuriating. "Well, why not?" she demanded.

"I'm not what I seem, dearie. You've assumed too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She grabbed a can of olives off the shelf. Olives were good. They wouldn't last long with her, but she hadn't bought any lately.

"You're 'writing' me. Figure it out." He ended with a high laugh.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" she grumbled.

"Belle, who are you talking to?" Mr. Clark asked as he passed her.

"Oh, just myself. It helps me remember where I am on my list." She gave the man her sweetest smile and once he'd walked out of earshot she turned back to Rumpelstiltskin. "See what you did there?"

"Yes."

Belle ignored him for the rest of her shopping, but continued to glance back at him. There was something strange about this. Some piece of the puzzle that she was missing. But what?

She paid for her groceries and put them in the small wagon that she'd left outside for this purpose. Usually she asked Ruby or Mary Margaret to drive her, but they were both busy tonight—Mary Margaret had something to do with her upcoming wedding and Ruby had mentioned a date. Belle just hoped she wasn't considering getting back together with Archie. They'd been there once. No need to repeat mistakes. So Belle was left to load her bags into the little red wagon and roll it down the street.

Rumpelstiltskin made no comment about the wagon, merely taking a few of the bags that wouldn't fit from her. "Are you sure that will work?" she asked.

"Once again, I can't answer vague questions such as that," he said.

"I can't very well have bags of groceries following me down the street in midair," she snapped. "Can people see them?"

He giggled. "I'll make sure they don't."

They set off down the street. Belle didn't know what to make of him. Surely an imaginary friend shouldn't be able to carry things. But then again, one's imaginary friends ought to disappear into memory after childhood. The fact that he could carry her things should be the least of her worries.

A few blocks from the edge of town, Rumpelstiltskin stopped. "This is where I leave you," he said, setting the bags down in the wagon. He gave a small wave and vanished.

"Figures," Belle muttered to herself. Slower this time, so as not to upset the overfilled wagon, she started down the street again.

The lights flicked off in the pawn shop as she passed, but she could have sworn Mr. Gold was looking right at her. The idea brought a small smile to her face and warmth to her that banished the chill of the night.

 

* * *

 

Even though she had arranged everything the night before, Belle was still nervous as she woke that morning. Charming had announced that they would stay where they were for a day. The clearing they were camped in was up against a cliff wall, so they couldn't be attacked from that side. Anyway, they needed the extra day of rest. They'd been in enemy territory a week, meticulously moving along the border. There hadn't been any sign of ogres yet, so they were taking the day to replenish supplies.

Regina was the only one awake, but even then she didn't look completely alert yet. Belle joined her at the campfire, gratefully accepting the offered dish of last night's dinner. Each morning was colder than the last and today her breath fogged in the air.

"Getting an early start?" Regina asked, gesturing around to the still dark sky.

Belle shrugged. "Something like that," she said between bites. The stew had reheated up nicely and each mouthful was a small victory against the cold.

"You're not going to win."

Belle looked up from her food in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You're not going to be chosen as leader. The King won't allow it. I'm the one with the power here," Regina hissed. She was dangerous. Belle imagined she could see sparks flying from the tips of her hair. There probably would be if Regina wasn't much too dignified for such a thing.

"King George specified both of us. If he was sure you would be chosen, then I wouldn't even be in the running." The attempt at reason seemed to calm Regina, but not much. She did sit back though, still seething.

"Do you want this?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure," Belle said without thinking, completely destroying any progress she'd been making in calming Regina down. Belle really didn't fancy spending the day as a rabbit or something. It would make her late. "I mean, why not? But I'm not going to take it from you."

Regina remained unconvinced. "Stay away if you know what's good for you." She gathered a pack and stalked off into the woods, leaving Belle very confused. She hadn't thought of the competition between her and Regina since Charming had told them about it. She'd been too upset about Graeme to care. Obviously Regina had been thinking about it. What about Charming? Was he watching the two of them? How could he make such a decision?

It was with a heavy mind that Belle gathered her things and set off into the woods—in the opposite direction of Regina. She wasn't even sure she wanted the position. Sure, missions were fun, but would they still be without her best friends by her side? Why was she really doing this? After all, she could probably be much more useful back in King George's library doing research that was needed for the war. She was the only one truly qualified. Regina would be good at leading. Sort of.

Regina was unstable. She always had been. One minute she was friendly and the next she was ready to torch everyone at the slightest provocation. Her magic gave her considerable power over others—power Charming was only barely able to keep in check. With her in charge, even if Red and Graeme still joined them, everything would be up to her whim. She might be useful to have around, but as a leader? Belle didn't think it would work out. Maybe it would be better if Belle was chosen. She didn't really want to lead, but against the options, what choice did she have? It would be a sacrifice on her part, but perhaps one that was worth it.

The woods were quiet and peaceful that morning. The dew was frozen and there was a slight mist hovering over the forest floor. It was too late in the season for birds and the higher the company moved into the mountains, the colder it got. Glad to have her cloak, Belle pulled it closer around herself. Every blade of grass with stiff with glittering frost. The air was sharp on her face, driving away whatever sleepiness that was left.

She found the clearing she was looking for without too much trouble. It was deserted, so she examined the bushes, trying to see if there was still any edible fruit around.

"Looking for me, dearie?"

Belle spun around. "Rumpelstiltskin!" She ran to him and threw her arms around him. He hugged back stiffly, just like every time she dared touch him. He'd told her his name a few days before and Belle treasured it like a precious gift, knowing that there was no record of the Dark One's true name. The names of the Witch and the Mage were known—Cora and Zoso. But never the Sorcerer. He was the most mysterious of the three. And he'd trusted her with his secret.

After a moment, Belle pulled back shyly. "I missed you."

"After only one night?" he laughed.

Belle nodded. They had a friendship now. She slipped away to see him whenever she could, glad to have someone she could truly talk to. That person used to be Graeme, but there was no way it could remain that way anymore. Rum, as she'd decided to call him, was willing to listen and could occasionally be convinced to share a tale of his own.

He held out his arm for her. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"You'll see when we arrive. Come."

Belle hesitated. "I can't go far. I need to be here in case—"

"In case what?" He took on a grand pose, his hands speaking elegantly with his voice. "Your company meets a fearsome dragon and requires your help to slay the beast?"

Belle laughed. "I have to see if I can find some food," she said, unable to hide her grin.

"I can do that for you. Come." He held out his hand for her this time.

Slowly, Belle slipped her fingers through his. "Alright then. I'll come."

They walked through the woods, their feet making small sounds as the frost-covered grass gave way beneath them. Rum's hand was warm in hers. Warmer than she expected, and smooth despite its rough appearance. She'd never touched his skin before and she found she enjoyed the way their hands fit together as they walked. He was careful to keep a half step ahead of her, so it would seem as if he was leading, but Belle wasn't fooled. He wanted to hold her hand.

Their path was long and the sun had begun to rise by the time Rum came to a stop. Belle looked around. The forest around them looked much the same as what they had walked through all morning. What was it he wanted to show her? The rational part of her said she ought to be afraid of him. After all she was alone in the woods with the most powerful sorcerer, well out of earshot of anyone around.

But she wasn't afraid. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't hurt her.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly. He met her eyes, his gaze so intense that Belle felt a blush rise to her cheeks despite the cold air.

"I am," she said.

He turned again, leading her, but more slowly this time. Belle heard it before she saw it. The musical rush of flowing water. Just through a grove of aspen was a beautiful waterfall, hidden away from the rest of the world. It was only a few feet wide and splashed merrily from rock to rock down the cliff face until it formed a little pool at the bottom. The pool gave way into a tiny stream headed down towards the river. Moss grew on the rocks in a bluish-green color. There were small, glittering creatures flying around it, ducking in and out between the trickles of water. The dawn caught in the water, making red-pink reflections on the rocks lining the stream.

"What are they?" Belle asked. She'd never seen such things before.

"Water sprites," Rum whispered in her ear, his breath warm and soft. "They're only found in remote parts of these mountains."

"They're beautiful."

"And dangerous. Do you want to see them closer?" He held out a hand for her.

She smiled. "Alright then."

Up at the bank of the stream, Belle paused. It would be frigid this time of year. Actually, at this altitude, it would be frigid any time of the year. But Rum walked straight into it. As she had seen before, the water parted around his feet, leaving him dry. He hesitated for a moment before reaching for her. Hands on her waist, he lifted her gently over the stream. She gasped in surprise and grasped his arms. He set her down gently, ever so gently, before joining her on the opposite bank.

He didn't look at her as she took his hand again in hers, her skin tingling where he'd held her, even through the layers of clothing. She smiled to herself. He was worried that he'd stepped too far. She gave his hand a small squeeze to let him know it was all right. His head jerked up in surprise. He searched her face for any hint of disgust at his touch, smiling faintly to find none.

The sprites' nest was under the curtain of water. Rum led her over to it. "The morning is their time of day," he whispered. "You can get closer to the nest while they're in the water."

Belle nodded. The little creatures were beautiful. Delicate limbs and gossamer wings gave them a vaguely fairy-like shape, though their faces more resembled a cat. They were pale, pale blue, like the water, and their skin seemed to resemble that of a frog. They moved with natural grace. Every move seemed to be part of a dance.

 

* * *

 

"I get that you're writing, but you write all the time," Mary Margaret said. She and Belle sat side by side in their usual booth at Granny's, waiting for Ruby's break. "Why? Is it really necessary? Can't you spend a little more time with us?"

Belle shrugged. "I don't know. I just really love it, I guess."

"I guess," Mary Margaret agreed.

Before Belle could speak again, Ruby slid in across from them. She'd asked them both to meet her here because she had news to share, even though it was a Thursday afternoon. "So, you'll never guess what I saw," she said, a wide grin on her painted face.

"What?" Mary Margaret asked eagerly.

"You're supposed to guess!"

"You just said we never would," Belle pointed out. "Come on, some of us have jobs to get back to before the Mayor decides to stop by."

"How often does Mayor Mills stop by?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Often enough. But that's beside the point. What happened, Ruby?"

Ruby settled into her seat and waiting a moment for effect. "This morning, Mr. Gold was—"

"What about Mr. Gold?" Killian Jones interrupted, coming up to their table.

"It's none of your business," Ruby snapped, annoyed to be cut off. "Go away."

"I thought we were friends, Lucas. Your secrets are my secrets. Continue. Tell us what Gold was doing." He sat on the edge on the table, looking expectantly at Ruby.

"I said go away. I'm not telling you," Ruby repeated. Killian snapped back and their petty argument soon degenerated into variants of "yes-no-yes-no-yes-no". Belle sighed and rested her head on the table. So much for Ruby's story. And it was useless to deny that she was very interested in what Mr. Gold had been doing.

After another minute of bickering, she nudged Mary Margaret. Lifting her head high enough to nod at Ruby and Killian, she said, "And _this_ is why I write all the time."

 

* * *

 

Belle didn't know how long she and Rum spent by the waterfall. They sat on the banks of the pool and watched the water sprites. They talked a little of inconsequential things, but were happy to sit together in silence of the cool of the morning as the light grew with the rising sun. After a while, they began to walk again. Belle didn't know where they were, but she trusted that Rum did. And if all else failed, he had magic, didn't he?

"I should go back," she said softly, kicking at a loose stone on the forest floor. Rum nodded, grasping her hand a bit tighter for a moment. The whole morning, she'd noticed him watching her. Despite their odd appearance, they were the most expressive eyes she'd ever seen. They shifted quickly between playful and mocking and intense. If one knew how to look properly, they were pictures into the soul he kept locked away. And whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention, they grew sad, sadder than anything she'd ever seen. It was almost as if he was mourning something that could never be returned to him.

"We're close," he said. A few minutes later, she could hear the sounds of her company at their camp through the trees. Rum stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong?"

He took her sack and waved his hand. Purple smoke appeared in it, only to be replaced with berries a moment later. "As promised, dearie."

"What about the price?" Belle asked. He looked confused, so she clarified: "The price of the magic."

He grinned. "I'll pay it, dearie." He bowed low.

Belle grinned and curtsied the best she could in pants. "Thank you."

They looked at each other a moment. Belle's breath caught in her throat as she was overcome with a sudden urge to kiss him. Startled by the thought, she turned quickly and hurried away back to the camp.

 

* * *

 

The red dress flared out around Belle's knees as she twirled in front of her bedroom mirror. It had little white polka dots and was casual while still looking nice. Mary Margaret would approve, but probably not dare to wear it. Ruby would hack several inches off the hem and neckline. It would do.

She gathered her coat off the bed and checked her makeup once more in the mirror before leaving the room. The blue of the coat didn't really go with the dress, but it was warm. And it was just her father she was meeting. _Not someone like Mr. Gold_ , her treacherous mind added. She wasn't sure exactly why she was so embarrassed to think such things. Ruby and her romance-psychic powers weren't even around.

"Well, well, well, don't we look beautiful tonight," Rumpelstiltskin said from his seat at her desk as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Belle couldn't help but grin at the compliment.

"Thank you," she said. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "If you want to talk you need to walk with me. I'm going to be late."

His expression became instantly guarded. "Meeting a handsome young man, dearie?"

"If my father counts," she said, enjoying the surprised expression on his face. "What did you want to say, Rum?" she said, only noticing the familiar nickname after it left her lips.

"I only wished to express my annoyance at the overly romantic scene I was given today," he said.

Belle laughed. "Finally admitting that I control you?" she teased. It came up often. He would try to say that he was independent of her. She would disagree. He couldn't be right. She made him up. He might be based on a certain pawn broker but he was still her Rumpelstiltskin.

He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Not exactly. And not in the way you think, dearie."

Belle rolled her eyes and let them fall into silence. If he wanted to be cryptic, she'd let him. Anyway, it was safer for them not to talk openly in town. Who knew who might be watching? The Rabbit Hole was on the close side of town to Belle's home—and unfortunately, the Pawn Shop wasn't on the route. Rumpelstiltskin stopped about a block away, his hand brushing her arm lightly as she continued on. The light touch gave her courage. It was an evening with her father. It couldn't be that bad, could it?


	11. A Sweet and Sour Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice: Both elli.O. and I are participating in NaNoWriMo this November, so updates will be much slower. My goal is to still get them up, but that's an optimistic goal. We'll do our best to have at least two chapters throughout the month. Many apologies for the delays.

Red knew from the light when she opened her eyes that she was probably the last one left at camp. The sun had completely risen and shone bright in her eyes. She wanted to roll over and burrow her cold face back in her blanket, but duty won out over laziness and she pulled herself up.

The only other person in sight was Graeme. He sat next to the fire, leaning over his knife, slowly cleaning it. Red had witnessed this ritual hundreds of times before, but had never really watched. His brow was furrowed in steady concentration, his body relaxed, his hands gentle. It was rare that he truly showed respect to men—especially to the nobles of the court—but this act of care for a simple tool was given his wholehearted devotion. His eyes, rather than their usual guarded suspicion, were warm, intent. He was at peace in his meticulous intensity.

Maybe, the thought occurred to her, he might one day hold that same look in his eyes when he looked at her.

She joined him at the fire, keeping her blanket around her shoulders. He looked up and gave her a small smile. "Good morning."

"Morning," she said sleepily. "Is everyone else gone?"

He nodded. "For several hours." He hesitated a moment before adding, "I didn't want you to wake up alone."

Red was surprised he'd be so thoughtful. From early in their days together, there had been a simple rule: last person to wake would guard the camp while everyone else went about finding food and what supplies they could. Graeme didn't have to stay with her. He could have left already to start his day's work. But he stayed. Just to make sure she didn't wake up alone.

"You're going now?" she asked.

"I probably should." He slid his knife back into its sheath. "I'm sorry you're stuck here."

"It's my own fault," she said shortly, gathering things for her breakfast. If she'd really wanted to go out, she could have woken earlier. Usually she hated being trapped at camp. Today she didn't mind the thought. Maybe some time alone would help her. Or maybe she'd spend the whole day crying over Peter again.

They sat quietly, tension between them. She couldn't get used to the fact that she was going to marry him. Every time they came anywhere close to each other it was all she could think about. She wished she were like Belle. Sweet, kind Belle, who would instantly try to make the best of any situation. Belle, who Graeme was already head over heels in love with. Belle, who could get along with anyone. Belle, who was doomed to be alone now that her true love was marrying her best friend.

Graeme sighed. "We can't be like this forever."

She thought about asking what he meant, but that ruse wouldn't deflect the conversation he was obviously interested in having now. "Why not?"

"Because we have to live together," he said bluntly. "It can be as easy or hard as we make it."

"Try telling Belle that." Red regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. A look of raw pain crossed Graeme's face. He was still hurting, of course. Belle was still distraught. She avoided camp as much as possible. And Graeme was always left staring after her when he thought no one else noticed. It was cruel to mock that pain. "I'm sorry."

Graeme nodded stiffly, tension still in his shoulders. "Can we have a serious conversation, Red?"

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "I… We've never been best of friends. Comrades and fellow hunters at best, acquaintances at worst. But we have to spend the rest of our lives together, so can't we make the best of it? I'm willing to try."

The idea of being happy was a strong one. She wanted so badly to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't spend the rest of her days in unhappiness. Graeme wasn't that bad as far as men went. Perhaps this was possible. "As am I."

"Start over then?"

"Yes. We can start over." Maybe with another start things wouldn't be so awkward. "You're really not that upset to be marrying me?" she asked.

"Upset isn't the right word." He said. Great. So it was worse? He noticed her expression and hurriedly explained. "Look, we're both in love with someone else. But neither of those relationships are going to work out, so can't we at least be there for each other? If you don't want romance, I don't need to give it. But I want us to be friends."

Her lips twitched up into a half smile. "I'd like that."

"I'm still leaving you here."

Red rolled her eyes. "Such a gentleman."

His face instantly grew concerned. "Do you want to trade? I can stay—"

"Go. Really. I'll be fine here. I can see you're desperate to be out of this clearing." And really too much of a gentleman, despite her comments otherwise. Graeme nodded and stood to gather his things. Red watched him out of the corner of her eye, for the first time taking in exactly how tall and thin he was and how his clothes outlined his body. He certainly wasn't bad looking.

"Graeme?" she said as he started to leave.

"Yes?" He turned back around to look her in the eye.

"Thanks for watching over me."

He grinned. "Anytime."

 

* * *

 

The interior of the Rabbit Hole was just as Belle expected. The place was full of people, some whom she knew and some she didn't. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. It wasn't a dirty, down-in-the-dumps sort of place, but some things were unavoidable with this number of people crammed about and drunk. Music blasted loud enough for her to feel the bass line in her chest. Feeling self-conscious in her blue coat and modest dress, she approached the bar.

"What can I get you?" the man asked.

"I'm Belle French," she said. "I have a reservation." Her father had called yesterday to tell her what to say. It had been an oddly brief conversation—as if he'd called between customers at the flower shop. The whole situation was odd. This wasn't the sort of place one would expect to find a small-town florist and his daughter.

"Yes, yes," the man said, smiling. "Come right this way, Miss."

He led her around towards the back of the room. Every step was a struggle to gracefully dodge someone or not trip on the uneven tile. Belle supposed this might be a nicer place if it was less crowded. Perhaps a Thursday night would be better? Swallowing her discomfort, she concentrated on making it to her father unscathed. Next time, she would insist on picking the location. She was a librarian. Librarians had respectable adventures with dragons and treasure and elves, not mad ventures into bars to meet semi-estranged fathers.

She wished Rum was here. His presence had become a comfort to her. Just having him next to her, invisible in his silk and leather, scales and snark. He would have something to say to keep her strong. And maybe it would be easier to deal with her father. She was certain Moe had the best of intentions, but their recent conversations had generally ended badly. Hopefully tonight would mark a new beginning.

"Here's your table, Miss." It was a booth for two, off to the side enough to be private, but not so much so that it seemed suspicious. And it was empty. Figures, that he would be late. She took off her coat and laid it on the bench before sitting next to it.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm waiting on a companion. If you'd please send him back here when he arrives."

"Of course, Miss."

At least the barman was pleasant enough. So far the evening wasn't too bad. Absently, she traced the patterns in the wood table with her finger. If only she had a notebook. She'd left all her things at home except for a tiny clutch. An idea grabbing her, she dug around in the clutch until she found a pen. There was a stack of napkins on the table, thankfully not the textured sort. She might not have the text of her story with her, but she could at least do some planning for later scenes until her father arrived.

Now that Graeme and Red had made things better between them, she could start on the real drama. If Regina would cooperate for a scene, she could establish her jealousy of Red and Belle…

She'd barely gotten more than a few lines down before her father slid into the seat across from her. "Just a minute…" she murmured, finishing off the line before looking up.

"Oh."

It wasn't her father seated across from her. It was Geoffry Stoddard.

"Hello Lisabelle," he said, a wide grin on his face. He never could seem to understand that she preferred "Belle". Actually, he never could seem to understand a great many things about her. "It's been too long."

"Hello Geoffry," she said crisply. "It's nice to see you too, but I'm meeting someone. We can catch up some other time."

"That's interesting," he said. "I was told you were coming here to meet me."

No. It couldn't be. Her mind tried to deny it, even though she had known the truth since she'd entered the bar. No, it had been even before that. Perhaps she'd known how this would play out since she spoke with her father outside the library. Belle closed her eyes to keep herself from taking her anger at her father out on Geoffrey. For she was undoubtedly furious with her father. She'd told him over and over that she wasn't interested in Geoffrey. He'd most likely told the poor boy that she wanted to meet him here. Why couldn't he understand that she didn't want Geoffrey? Sure, it wasn't like he knew she was interested in anyone else—she wasn't stupid enough to tell him about her crush on Mr. Gold—but that shouldn't matter. He should respect her wishes. And he didn't. Now she wasn't the only one who'd be hurt.

"Why is it you were going to meet me?" she asked, barely keeping her voice civil. Perhaps he just wanted to be friends. She could be friends with Geoffrey. They'd grown up together. They could get along.

"Your father told me you were interested in maybe getting together. He said something about being too embarrassed to ask me yourself, so he was calling me for you." Geoffrey looked distinctly uncomfortable. Belle didn't blame him. Realizing a girl's father set her up on a date she wasn't interested in had to be an uncomfortable situation indeed. As for her father, she was livid. How dare he do this to her? And not just to her, but to Geoffrey! As annoying as his attentions could be, Geoffrey was well-intentioned. It was cruel to raise his hopes only to have her dash them.

"My father told you wrong," Belle said, gathering her coat and standing to pull it on.

"Belle, wait." Geoffrey grabbed her wrist. "Stay at least? Just because we were manipulated into this doesn't mean we can't try."

Belle sighed and sat, but didn't take her coat off. She owed him a conversation, at least. She couldn't storm off in her anger at her father. He'd come to see her. They could at least talk things through. "Geoffrey… We've been friends most our lives. Can't things stay that way?"

"But it could be so much more," he said, taking her hands in his. "We'd get along together. I know we would. Isn't our friendship only another reason to continue? I'm not suggesting a fast relationship and marriage. Your father might push for it, but I'm willing to give you time. Please. Give me a chance."

Belle sighed. She hated hurting him like this. But he simply couldn't give up, could he? "You're a good man, Geoffrey," she said. "And one day you will make a woman very happy. It's just…"

"That woman isn't you," he finished. "Why not? Give me one reason. Give me one and I'll leave and never bother you again."

Could she tell him? Could she trust him? "I… I'm in love with someone else." There. She said it. Quietly, yes, shyly, yes, but she couldn't hide the small smile that grew on her face as she thought of Mr. Gold.

Whatever answer Geoffrey expected, it wasn't that. "Someone else?" he gasped. "Who?"

"I—I can't tell you," Belle stuttered. "Please. Let me go. That's my reason."

Geoffrey nodded, and Belle took her chance to go. As she buttoned up her coat, he asked, "Is he good to you?"

"Yes," Belle said without thinking. She didn't know where the answer came from, but she believed it with all her heart. "Please don't mention this to my father," she added as a precaution.

Geoffrey nodded sadly as she left him at the table. Meeting no one's eyes, she left the Rabbit Hole and started down the street. Instead of heading home, she started off towards the diner. She hadn't had any dinner, so she might as well get something. Maybe Ruby would be open for sympathy.

"Belle?" It was Killian. He wore a long black leather trench coat and had his guitar case slung over his back.

She stopped. "Hey," she said sadly, unable to muster the will to be more cheerful.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What happened?"

"My dad stood me up."

"I'm sorry." He paused, awkwardly unsure of what was appropriate to say. "I'm playing tonight if you want to come listen. The evening is still salvageable—here's what: stay and I'll take you for dinner or a movie or something after my gig."

Belle smiled. He was such a gentleman when he wanted to be. "Thanks, but I don't really want to go back in there… Dad sent this guy he's been trying to set me up with for years instead," she confessed. "This is supposed to be my grand exit."

"Ah," Killian said. "Well then, I'll bid you adieu for tonight." He took her hand and lightly kissed the back of it. "Chin up." With a wink, he turned and entered the bar.

Belle continued on slowly, her head down and her hands in her pockets. The fact that Geoffrey had been there to meet her instead of her father shouldn't have been so much of a surprise. But despite her problems with her father, Belle had been hoping for an evening with him. It had been years since they'd properly spent time together. Now that wasn't likely to happen.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't appear as she walked down the street. She'd half expected him to. No, now she walked alone. After all, he was the Dark One. He most likely had better things to do than follow her around all the time.

The Pawn Shop was on the way to Granny's, but for once she didn't glace inside. It hurt too much to be on this side of those glass windows, never speaking to him. She lacked the courage to go inside, after all. She wanted to be brave, like the Belle in her story, but she wasn't. All she could do was admire Mr. Gold from a distance.

The dinner crowd had long departed by the time she made her way into the diner. Ashley was in Ruby's usual spot behind the counter—so much for sympathy from her friend tonight. Killian had made her feel marginally better, but now she was almost regretting that she didn't take him up on his offer. Perhaps sitting here moping over a cup of coffee wasn't the best idea after all.

She took a seat at the counter, setting her coat on the stool beside her. Ashley came over, smiling. "What can I get you?" she asked sweetly.

"A—a hot chocolate." She had been about to say coffee, but she really didn't want to stay up with her thoughts tonight. There was something comforting about the idea of rich, warm chocolate right now. It was exactly what she needed.

"Coming right up."

Too upset to make small talk, Belle rested her head in her hands as she waited for her drink. Ashley set it in front of her within a few minutes, kindly smiling before going about her business once again. Belle sipped slowly at her hot chocolate. It was smooth and relaxing. She hadn't ordered hot chocolate in years. Usually she got iced tea or coffee—or in extreme cases, alcohol. Hot chocolate was different. It was fun and reminded her of childhood winter days after playing in the snow.

The door to the diner rattled as it opened. Automatically, Belle looked over. For a fleeting moment, she hoped it would be Rumpelstiltskin before she remembered that he didn't need to come through the door. Instead, Sheriff Graham Blanchard was heading towards the counter.

"May I sit here?" he asked. His accent was rich and smooth, just like her drink.

"Sure." Belle smiled as he settled down on the stool next to her. She tried to control her excitement that he was here, so close. Her crush on Mr. Gold might be stronger than her one for Graham, but that didn't stop her from having trouble thinking around the sheriff. "What brings you here?"

"It's my break from work—a cappuccino and a piece of apple pie, please," he told Ashley. "And you?"

"Disappointing night elsewhere," she said. It was a decent summary of the evening. Graham didn't need to be bothered with the whole story.

"I'm sorry. At least coffee helps?"

"It's hot chocolate, but yes, it does help." She took another sip to demonstrate her point.

Graham smiled. He really did have a charming smile. "I should have thought of that when I ordered. But I've been dreaming of a cappuccino all day, so I suppose it's my better bet—thank you, Ashley." He took the drink and pie from her.

"Bad day?" Belle asked.

"No more than usual. Regina's enough of a headache most days."

"Right. She's your secretary. How is that?" She couldn't believe she'd forgotten that. True, Ruby was the gossip encyclopedia, but Belle was usually able to keep track of basic things.

"Difficult," Graham said.

Belle laughed. "Surely there's more to the story than that. How is she so difficult?" It wasn't that she didn't know what he would probably say—after all, Regina had inherited her mother's talent for sticking her nose where it wasn't welcome—but she wanted to keep him talking to her. He might never know about this little fancy, but her night had much improved since his arrival.

"I still can't figure out how to fire her without getting fired myself," Graham said. He sighed. "It's not that she's a terrible secretary. She does her job well. The only problem is that she insists on buying me coffee instead of cappuccino. Doesn't matter how many times I tell her I hate coffee."

Belle grinned. Ruby was right then. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well that's a small issue."

"There's a big one?" She wasn't surprised.

"If being incapable of understanding the word 'no' is a big issue, yes."

"What do you mean?"

"She seems to think I'm lying when I say I'm not interested. If this keeps on much longer I'm going have to fire her for sexual harassment."

While this was typical Regina, Belle was still horrified. "Why haven't you sacked her yet, then?"

"Because Madame Mayor comes by every few days to check up on her work and finds nothing the matter. If I sack Regina without good reason, her mother won't wait too long to do the same to me." He took a bite of pie and chewed slowly, contemplating something. "I wonder what Regina would do if I had a girlfriend. Maybe she'd let up."

"Maybe," Belle said. She almost volunteered for the position, but once again her thoughts turned to Mr. Gold. What if he cared? What if there was something behind all those glances through the windows? If she started dating Graham, would it break his heart? There were too many unanswered questions.

"I'll have to ask Mary Margaret if there's anyone who'd be interested," Graham was saying.

"Ruby would."

"What?"

"My friend Ruby. She's a waitress here. She'd be willing to date you."

Graham looked rather shell-shocked by the idea. "She would?"

Belle nodded with a smile. "Ask her." At least Ruby could get her happy ending.

 

* * *

 

They stayed in the diner until Ashley kicked them out for closing. For a night that had begun so badly, it had continued well indeed. Graham insisted that he drive her home because of the cold. Belle had gone along with it, if only to spend more time with him. It was pleasant to talk with him. They got along well and had a good bit in common—books for one. Graham wasn't a huge reader, but he had a number of favorites he could discuss in detail, which was more than many could say.

On impulse, Belle hugged him on her doorstep. "Thanks for cheering me up."

"Anytime. Cappuccino is always better with company. And you really should do something about those trees blocking your driveway."

An hour later, showered and dressed in her softest pajamas, Belle curled up on her sofa with her laptop. It wasn't something particular that had been said, but she had an idea with where to take the story. After all, what if Belle and Graeme made a mistake? What if Red saw? Her plot with Snow White and Regina wasn't working out. Maybe she was going in the wrong direction. Maybe the love triangle between Belle, Red, and Graeme was the best way to go. Regina could still devise her schemes—there just needed to be more than only that going on.

She took a few minutes to gather her thoughts and find music that would work with the scene. If this worked, everything would smooth itself out.

Still, she couldn't erase or ignore that niggling feeling in the back of her heart, that this was not the story that needed to be told.


	12. A Frustrating Dilemma

Mr. Gold rarely ventured out into Storybrooke. Mostly because he wasn't particularly well-liked. He considered himself to be a fair, but strict, landlord. His agreements were specific, airtight, and would be upheld with no exceptions. Apparently that made him cruel and heartless.

The other reason for his solitude was short with lovely brown curls. Belle French. A braver man than he would have spoken to her by now. Gold knew well enough that "coincidental" meetings weren't at all hard to arrange. That braver man would also be young, handsome, kind—more worthy of her. Despite Gold's care that his only interaction with Belle took place through a glass window, they had still managed to run into each other—quite literally. That ought to have been the moment to talk to her, but instead he had hurried along his way. Only to spend the rest of the day smiling at the memory of her. (And thus terrifying his tenants even more than usual.)

He wanted to meet her. He wanted to leave the shop and talk to her. To hear the sound of her voice directed at him with full knowledge of who he was. There was no one in Storybrooke who would truly talk with him. But Belle would. He knew it. With his mind he knew that now was not yet the time. And so he told his aching heart.

With all luck, just a little bit longer.

* * *

"Something the matter, Sorceress?" Hook asked. Regina shot him a deadly glare. She wasn't in the mood. "I take it something is the matter, then," he said, coming to sit next to her.

Snow, Charming, and Red sat at the campfire, talking and laughing. They looked nauseatingly cheerful. Not willing to fake merriment at the moment, Regina had retreated to sit against the cliff wall they were camped beside. Around her were dozens of newly-formed orange and red mushrooms of various sizes. It was a simple spell with a small price, so she used it for practice. It wouldn't do anyone any good if she fell out of practice.

"You're crushing my mushrooms," she said irritably. Usually, she got along with Hook the best out of her comrades—both of them were more interested in results than noble methods. The Huntsman was rather like them in that. Well, not when it came to people at least. He wouldn't hurt an innocent. Regina had learned the hard way.

"Hang your mushrooms," Hook said. "I came to point something interesting out to you."

"Get on with it then." All her attempts to further her plans so far had failed. Graeme was still fixedly in love with Belle and not her. And he was being nice to Red. Snow was still disgustingly happy and in love. Belle was still a little angel in Charming's eyes. At least Regina had managed to convince Charming she wasn't a complete monster.

None of them understood. She needed this position. Without this she was nothing. She had no title, no home. Only her reputation as a feared sorceress. She had power. She had talent. It would be no better than a crime to let her waste away her days in the Castle. She could do so much more. Her mother had wanted her to be Queen. If that couldn't happen, then at least she could be someone important.

"Look at the campfire," Hook said. "What do you see?"

Regina glared at him. "If this is one of those idiotic philosophical—"

"It's not. Just tell me."

She sighed. "Their Highnesses and Red. What about it?"

Hook's grin was rather terrifying. "Now who _isn_ _'t_ there?"

"Belle and Graeme—ah." She let herself smile. The magic in her rose with her emotions, faint purple sparks coming from her fingertips. "Thank you, Captain. You have been most helpful."

 

* * *

 

She heard Graeme before she saw him. He'd followed her out here from the camp. It seemed her assumption that no one would notice her absence had been foolish. Of course he would notice. More than ten years of loving someone didn't vanish in a day.

"Belle?"

"I'm here," she said quietly. He would hear. He'd spent years training his senses to find the smallest of game in the woods. He could pick out her voice.

He came and sat next to her on the fallen log. The last bits of sun were fading quickly and the forest was dimmer than the sky above. The trees cast long, deep shadows on the ground. Belle didn't look at him. Looking at him would mean remembering.

"Belle?" Of course he would be confused why she was silent. She would usually greet him with at least a word if not a touch or kiss. Though now, she supposed, none of their usual things could exist. It wasn't just that they were no longer allowed to marry. Their entire relationship was destroyed. Belle didn't know how to talk to him anymore, and she could tell he was just as clueless. The friendship they'd had was gone now.

"Why are you here, Graeme?" She choked a bit on his name. His name used to be precious to her. She would whisper it to herself and smile. Now it was just a reminder that this was all gone.

"I didn't want you to be alone."

Belle tried to be strong. She ought to have turned him away then, stood and gone back to camp. But it was the same rich, accented voice that had always been there beside her. She had always found his voice terribly attractive, but it was also a comfort, a source of strength when she had no more. She turned to look at what little she could see of him in the dimming light.

"I know I shouldn't," he said. "But—"

"I know." She laid her hand over his. "Thank you."

He sighed. "Red and I talked properly this morning."

"That's good." She grinned. Her love for him wasn't a selfish love. Of course, she'd rather he be with her "Are you…"

"We're making it work."

"Thank you." She knew Red deserved it. Especially after the loss of Peter, Red needed someone by her side. She was estranged from her only living relative—her grandmother—so she had no one. Belle and Snow couldn't be there all the time. "I wish you both all the happiness—"

Graeme pressed his finger to her lips. "Please don't."

"You don't want my blessing?" Her lips slid over his finger with each word. She wasn't technically kissing him, but it was close. Too close.

He took his hand away, not meeting her eyes, a faint blush visible across his cheekbones. Belle understood. Neither of them should have enjoyed that as much as they did. "Someday," he said. "Someday I will gladly accept it. But not yet."

 _Not when we_ _'re alone together like this_ , she finished in her mind. His pain was so raw, so plain to her. He'd never tried to hide his feelings from her. She had always been welcome in his private world. Now, she wished more than anything that he would close up. Distance would make everything easier, wouldn't it? "Look," she said crossly. "I'm trying to be—" She searched for the word. "— _responsible_ about all this."

"You're succeeding," he growled.

"What would you rather me do?" She wished he would go away. She wished he wouldn't look at her like that—like he wanted to ignore their present situation entirely.

"I—"

 

* * *

 

" _He leaned forward, waiting, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn_ _'t. His lips met hers and she nearly sighed in relief. It had been too long without him. Logically, this was a terrible idea, but feeling had taken over and she could only cling to him, delighting in the taste of his kiss that…_ "

Belle sat back in her swivel chair, frowning. Everything had been going fine. Now all of a sudden she couldn't write. What could come next? It was as if she had suddenly run smack into a brick wall. She tried to retype the kiss, but there was nothing that worked. And where could she go from there? Writing seemed like the hardest thing in the world.

She glanced at the clock. 9:48. It wasn't too late. Maybe some coffee would help. She hauled herself out of the chair. As she went through the motions of making the drink, she tried to focus her thoughts on the story. But her characters and plots had become like water slipping through her fingers every time she tried to grasp them.

She sat up on the counter while the coffee maker fizzed and gurgled. The rich smell filled the apartment, sadly not helping with her feeling of boredom. She thought about calling Ruby, but didn't. Ruby wouldn't understand. Even though the rational thing to do would be to just keep writing, the words wouldn't come. The fountain within her that had been flowing words for the past few weeks had abruptly shut, leaving Belle alone.

The coffee finished brewing and Belle collected the mug, wrapping her hands around it. She hadn't realized how cold it was in the apartment. Sure, the temperature had dropped, but she'd been too distracted to put that together with turning on the heat. Perhaps she was too cold to write. It was a desperate thought, but she turned on the heat anyway.

She sat in front of the computer to sip her coffee, as if sitting there would bring inspiration. She felt rather dead inside. There was no real explanation. Feebly, she attempted to type a few more words, only to delete them seconds later. She didn't really feel like doing anything. Even sipping her coffee required too much effort. For once, the books on her shelves didn't call to her. She could read, but there wasn't a story she wanted besides the one she couldn't tell.

Her coffee was gone all too soon, only a black-yellow ring in the bottom of the mug and a few extra grounds sticking to the sides. She got up to put it in the sink, not caring enough to wash it now. Maybe it was just too late for writing. If she hadn't had coffee, perhaps sleep would have helped. Regretting the caffeine she could already feel coursing excitedly through her, she stood in the middle of her apartment, looking around. Nothing interested her. Except her story. But it felt almost like hands were tugging her heart away from it. Whether they were maliciously holding her back or preventing her from wrecking everything, she knew not.

She bit the inside of her lip. She had to do something. There. Oven. Cookies. Chocolate would help writing, right? It wasn't just an excuse to eat. It would help her writing.

Digging the recipe out of the cupboard, she grinned to herself. Anticipation of warm, soft chocolate cookies filled her. It took her several minutes to assemble everything on the counter. She nearly had the recipe memorized from following it so many time, but she didn't quite trust herself to do it right. She read the first instruction: ½ cup of butter. There was the problem with impromptu cookies: softening butter.

She fetched a stick from the fridge, ignoring the feeling that she really should be writing and this was just an elaborate form of procrastination. She placed the butter carefully in the microwave, as if merely setting it in there would cause it to explode into a soupy mess. She started it with ten seconds, after which it was still rock-hard. Frowning, she put it back in a bit longer, ready to jump to the rescue at the slightest hint of soupiness.

Finally, butter properly softened, Belle continued with the recipe. She was rather lucky she had all the ingredients. The familiar task was calming and let her temporarily forget her writing problems. Or rather, just think about them in a more detached fashion.

This feeling wasn't totally foreign to her. In fact, it had described most of her attempts to write. Utter emptiness. A blank wall whenever she tried to type. The feeling of incurable boredom. A sudden fear overtook her and she forced her hands to be steady as the fears she had been able to ignore surfaced once more. What if this was the end of her story? What if inspiration never returned? What if the rest of her life was spent staring at the same blank ending to that kiss? What if those were the last words she ever wrote? What if these past few weeks became the closest she ever came to being a writer? What if it was all over?

Breathing deeply, she abandoned the cookie dough and leaned back against the wall. Eyes closed, she tried to calm herself. The words would come again. She had to believe it. Surely this short-lived passion wasn't all there was. And if it was, she'd find another story. She had to. The nerves were only because this was her first story. Perhaps stories were love. It seemed wonderful at first and then the insecurity and fear set in before anything could really be accomplished. Belle had always believed in true love. If her story was like that, she could believe in it too. Tonight was simply an off night. The disappointment that her father didn't show was throwing her off.

Feeling a bit better, she was able to finish off the cookies and set them in the oven. The overly obnoxious timer on her phone set, she returned to sitting in front of the computer. She tried rewriting the kiss. She tried reworking the scene. She tried skipping to immediately after the kiss. Nothing could get her past the brick wall she'd run into.

She switched windows over to the internet. She had several new e-mails and remembered Ruby saying something about an article she should read…

Still no words had been written when the timer went off. Belle took the cookies out of the oven and still wrote nothing as they cooled. She put a few on a plate and sat on the couch, unable to sit in front of her computer if she was just going to stare at the blank page again. The cookies were warm and soft and gooey. They stuck to her fingers and melted in her mouth. The chocolate was comforting, but, sadly, not particularly inspiring.

She barely blinked when Rumpelstiltskin simply appeared on the other end of the sofa from her. He always looked odd in his surroundings here. The leather and silk didn't go well with the worn fabric upholstery.

"You were absent tonight," she said, offering him a cookie off her plate. He took it gingerly and bit into it, smiling a bit at the sweet taste. What had he expected? Poison?

"I was," he confirmed. She waited for him to elaborate, but no answer was forthcoming. He wasn't even really looking at her.

"Come on," she said, trying not to take her bad mood out on him. "Don't be upset with me. It's in the outline."

He face instantly became guarded. "What's in the outline?"

"You know." She rolled her eyes. "The last scene I wrote. Belle and Graeme. Don't get grumpy with me about it. I can't control the ideas I get." She sighed. "But I'm stuck with the kiss. I haven't been able to write anything for"—she glanced at the clock— "nearly an hour."

He stood suddenly, the half-eaten cookie falling to the carpet. He was nearly shaking with held in fury. It was terrifying to behold. His emotional walls had gone up in a single moment and one scaled finger pointing at her accusingly. "What did you do?"

"Don't get all upset," Belle said defensively. "I had an idea for this love triangle between Red and Belle and Graeme. But it's not like you didn't already know that."

"Know?" His voice was shrill and cutting. "I know? I didn't know, dearie. I'm not the writer."

"Well now you do," Belle said, filing away the information for later consideration. Now she had to convince her character not to blow up her living room with jealousy. "Now sit back down and help me think how to finish this."

"Finish this?" he repeated. His anger was only growing with each second. For the first time, Belle actually felt a flicker of fear. He was the Dark One. And she had angered him.

"Yes," she said, willing herself to remain calm. "The kiss. Come on. I'm stuck."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he spat. Then he vanished, leaving behind only tendrils of purple smoke tinged with scarlet.

 

* * *

 

Shortly after Rumpelstiltskin's overly dramatic exit, Belle went to bed. There was no point staying up any longer if no writing was going to happen. Sadly, things weren't any better the next morning either. She went about her day as usual, just without writing a single word. It was frustrating, but fortunately there was enough going on to otherwise occupy her mind.

She arrived home late after closing the library and dinner with David and Mary Margaret. Things were progressing nicely towards their wedding. Mr. Nolan didn't seem to have come any closer to accepting it, but at least he wasn't making a fuss anymore. It had been a relaxing evening. The sort she wished had happened the night before with her father—but thinking such things wasn't going to help anything.

Her laptop sat on the desk, surrounded by little notes and scraps of writing. She ought to go write. Perhaps now that she was in such a good mood, she'd be able to make some progress. Still, something held her back. She wasn't sure what, but it was as if she knew that if she sat down, she wouldn't be able to add to her story at all.

So she ended up on the sofa, staring at the wall. Going to bed now would be good. She'd been low on sleep lately. But that would mean going to bed without writing anything all day. She didn't want to do that.

She was sitting curled up in the corner of the sofa when Rumpelstiltskin appeared in her desk chair. It was rather impressive that he could materialize sitting perfectly like that and not end up sprawled on the floor. It must have taken practice, or maybe it was just more talent and balance than Belle would ever have.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon," she said dryly. "Over your dramatic exit?"

"I see you haven't written anything," he replied, just as coolly. His fingertips drummed against each other, elbows resting on the arms of her swivel chair.

"Yes, well, the words will come eventually."

He gave a little laugh. "Will they now?"

"You're just bitter because you're not the main love interest. Get over it. It's been decided." She really wasn't in the mood to deal with him right now. Well, maybe she had been in a good mood, but it was spoiled now. Thanks to the glittery imp in her swivel chair.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked. Belle rolled her eyes.

"I'm the writer. I decided. End of story," she said, regretting her word choice as soon as it left her mouth and he began to laugh.

"End of story indeed. You can't add to it."

"What does it matter to you?" Belle snapped. "Maybe I'm done with the story now. Maybe I want to end it there."

His grin was infuriating as he stood. "Oh dear," he said, looking too gleeful for the words. "Oh dearie, dearie, dear. You don't mean that."

Belle settled with a glare as the best form of response. "Fine. I don't. I take it you have a brilliant suggestion, don't you?"

"Not a suggestion, dearie," he said. "A new perspective."

 _Oh great_ , she thought. Why couldn't her imaginary friend be lovely and supportive like everyone else's? Why did he have to be annoying and superior and…. and _right?_

"Go ahead. What is it?" she asked.

He sat back down in the swivel chair with a flourish. "You're going about this story the wrong way," he said. "You still think this is your story."

"It is my story," Belle said, confused. How could he manage to confuse her if he was part of her subconscious?

"Your story? Oh no, it's real, dearie. Very real."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Of course it's real for you. You live there. But for me? It's a story, Rum. Nothing more."

He didn't respond, but sat there grinning at her, a hint of something dangerous in his eyes. It was… unsettling.

"So that's it? That's your excellent advice?" She felt a little bad about taking her frustration with her story out on him, but if he would just be helpful it wouldn't be so easy.

"Well what you're doing isn't working, is it?" he hissed, leaning forward in his seat. "Try something different."

"Like what? Something where you and Belle end up together?" Really, who's great idea had it been to entertain him? She shouldn't have to put up with this. He was after one thing and one thing alone: his happy ending. But he wasn't the hero. Snow White was. He was a minor character. Happiness was not guaranteed anywhere. He had no right to complain about it either.

"I want you to follow your instincts." He sat back in the chair, some of his fury gone. His expression was suddenly guarded, closed off from her. It was almost as if he was hiding something from her. But that wasn't possible. She knew everything about him, didn't she? "Don't try to deny it," he continued. "A love triangle might make a good plot, but we both know that's not the story you're trying to tell."

"Maybe it is. You don't know that." Even to her own ears, Belle sounded like a petulant child.

"Actually, I do," he said, a smug grin returning to his face. "You've been kind enough to remind me that I'm inside your mind on more than one occasion."

She paused, unsure if she'd heard correctly. "You admit it then? You're not real?"

"Oh, I never said that, dearie."

Impossible. He was impossible. Belle took a deep breath before speaking. "So what's your suggestion? What will fix… this?"

"You need to let go of your ideas," he said, taking on a theatrical stance. "You know what this story is—you've done a fine job ignoring it for weeks. But now the moment has come. You can't do that anymore."

"What in the world are you talking about?" She was too tired to deal with dramatic characters. Sadly, she hadn't been tired until he showed up. She leaned back into the couch and rubbed her forehead with her hand.`

He stood and came to rest a hand on her arm. "The story is there, inside your mind. It's playing in front of you," he said, his voice lyrical, as if describing a dream or work of art. "All you have to do is reach out and write what you find."

Belle sighed. He just didn't get it. "Of course it's all in my mind. I'm making it up," she said, her voice weary from repetition.

He gave a small laugh. "You only think you are."

"Go away," she said, sitting up properly and shaking his hand away. "You're just being confusing."

"Is that what you really want, dearie?" His voice was soft. It gave nothing away. It was impossible to tell if he was saddened or relieved. And after his outbursts tonight, Belle didn't trust herself to assume one way or the other.

"Probably not," she admitted. "But if you're not going to be helpful, go."

"Denying the truth won't make it false," he said in that same neutral voice.

Belle took a deep breath, but looked him in the eye and stood firm. "You're crazy—it's all crazy," she said. "Go."

And with a bow, he did.


	13. A Lousy Two Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So don't forget to breathe  
> Don't forget to breathe  
> Your whole life is here  
> No eleventh hour reprieve  
> So don't forget to breathe  
> Keep your head above water  
> But don't forget to breathe  
> ~"Breathe", Alexi Murdoch

_Monday_

Belle could tell that her foul mood was written all over her face from the moment she sat down in her booth: Ruby appeared in seconds, a worried expression on her face. Belle hadn't meant to be so obvious about it. Every ounce of interest in writing was gone. Overnight. She'd dragged herself out of bed this morning, only barely able to tell herself that work was necessary for life whether or not she was capable of writing. It seemed that it only took a few weeks of storytelling bliss to spoil her completely. Only a few months ago, she'd never written more than a few words. Now she couldn't imagine living without them constantly needing to pour from her fingers.

"Spill now," Ruby ordered her after setting a plate of pancakes in front of Belle. "What's got you all upset this morning?"

"Who says—" She dropped the act at a sharp look from Ruby. "I can't write."

Ruby quirked her eyebrows. "You have fingers, don't you?"

"Yes, but that's not the problem," Belle sighed. She wasn't in the mood for Ruby's games this morning. She took a bite of her pancakes. At least they were something that wasn't wrong.

"What is it then?"

"I told you." As soon as the words left her mouth, Belle regretted snapping at Ruby. She was only trying to help.

"No you—" Ruby took a deep breath. "Try to explain it to me."

Belle bit her lip as she tried to find a way to explain the horrible feeling."It's like... It's like there's a wall between me and the story. I can't see what's coming next anymore. It's just a blank page."

At those words, the despair overwhelmed her again. She let her head fall to rest on the table, careful to position herself so she didn't get syrup in her hair. That was one thing she didn't need this morning.

Ruby got up and came around the table to sit next to her, gently rubbing her back. "Can I help?"

"Distract me."

"With what?"

"Anything."

"I saw Graham again the other day."

Belle lifted her head to see Ruby grinning. She matched it with a grin of her own. "Oh? Do tell."

"Well, we've been talking whenever he comes in to get cappuccino." Her eyes grew wider, more genuinely happy. So often she flirted with a boy because she had nothing better to do. But now her eyes were shining. Belle wondered if her own eyes ever shined the same way. "And the other day I saw him when I went out on my break—"

"Where?"

"Just ran into him on the street. Nothing fancy."

"Do you think he likes you?"

Ruby's cheeks tinged pink and she ducked her head a little to mumble, "Yeah."

"Oh Ruby, I'm so happy for you." Belle hugged her friend as best she could with both of them on the narrow bench.

"Happy? I thought you liked him too."

It was Belle's turn to blush. "I mean, he's cute and all, but..."

"You're in love with Mr. Gold," Ruby stated, her grin growing wider.

"Stop it!" Belle was sure she was flaming red by now. She didn't even know why this was so embarrassing. It just was.

"It's true."

Belle returned her head to the table to hide from Ruby. It wasn't really effective, but it made her point. "You're impossible," she grumbled.

"Speaking of Gold—" Ruby said. Belle's head jerked up from the table, her curls flying everywhere. She looked around, hoping he hadn't just entered the diner to see her like that. There was no sign of him, only Ruby's laughter.

"See?" she said. "Head over heels, girl."

"Shut up." She cleared her throat and took a deep breath to compose herself. "What about Gold?"

"I never told you about what I saw him doing."

"Oh yeah. What was it?" She had nearly forgotten Ruby had wanted to tell her something. So much else had been going on.

"Well, I was walking to work and I saw him standing outside the library. I mean, I didn't think anything of it, but when I came running back twenty minutes later to get my keys, he was still there. He saw me looking at him, of course, so when I came back he was gone."

"You saw Mr. Gold standing outside the library? That's it?"

"He was waiting for you, Belle! I'm sure of it!" Ruby insisted.

"I doubt it." She couldn't help being a little disappointed. There was no way Gold was actually there for any reason involving her. Their relationship was limited to glances through the windows of his shop. Nothing more.

"He was going to profess his undying love for you and you were going to live happily ever after together—"

"I don't think so. He probably just wanted something about the rent," Belle said. "And I thought you didn't approve of him."

"I don't, but just thinking about him makes you happy."

"What?"

"You're smiling. You looked ready to vaporize the world when you walked in here." Ruby smirked as if she had won an argument. But she was right. Talking about her… fancy… had cheered Belle up considerably.

"It's the pancakes," Belle deflected. From across the diner, Granny called for Ruby to get back to work and stop socializing.

"Mm-hmm." Ruby stood and gave Belle a long, hard look. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Help me write." Belle sighed. Why was writing so hard?

"Maybe you just need to find your muse," Ruby suggested.

"My muse?"

"Yeah," Ruby said. "Don't all you writer-types have one?"

Belle watched her friend return to work with a sad smile on her face. Too bad she had gotten into a fight with her muse. Finding him again might be easier said than done.

 

* * *

_Tuesday_

Belle stood in her living room, feeling a little ridiculous. At least she didn't have any windows looking out on any sort of road. Not that any passers-by would be able to hear her talking to thin air.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she called. She hadn't seen him since he'd stormed off. Usually she only had to want him to appear and he would. It might take a few hours at most, but he always came. Not now though.

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

The coffee table and floor around her were stacked with all the books on fairy tales that the Storybrooke Library owned. No one ever checked them out anyway. She'd spent last night combing the books for every story of Rumpelstiltskin. He was summoned by calling his name. And if that didn't work, then calling his name three times should compel him to come.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she shouted as loud as she could. Then she sat down to wait. There was nothing else to do.

Hours later, she woke with a start. She looked around, but there was no sign of Rumpelstiltskin.

 

* * *

_Thursday_

"Did you get everything you were looking for?" Belle asked the little girl who was positively bouncing in front of the circulation desk. A few steps back, her father looked on with a small smile on his face.

"Yes!" Grace said, grinning.

"Well, I haven't read this one, so you'll have to tell me how you like it." Belle handed the book back to the girl. It was a children's retelling of a fairy tale. But not one that Belle was familiar with. It was amazing that there still were fairy tales she wasn't familiar with after her hunt for ways to summon Rumpelstiltskin.

"I will, Miss Belle," Grace said. She had an adorable serious expression that only a child could truly have. Serious expressions got more and more worrisome with age.

"Come along, Grace," Jefferson said absently. "We ought to be getting home." He didn't meet Belle's eyes as he placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder. He was reserved like that.

Grace covered his hand with hers. "Just a minute, Papa. I have a question for Miss Belle."

Jefferson nodded and walked off towards the door a ways. Grace watched him go, then beckoned for Belle to come out from behind the desk. Belle came and knelt down in front of the little girl. Grace leaned in and clumsily whispered in Belle's ear, "Did you find what you're looking for, Miss Belle?"

"Who says I'm looking for anything?" Belle whispered back.

"You look sad and lost."

Belle sighed. "No, I haven't found it."

"Why not?"

"I…" She broke off, thinking about her answer. Why not? Why hadn't Rumpelstiltskin come to her? "I don't think I'll find him until he wants to be found," she said.

Grace frowned, not really understanding, but she nodded and threw her arms around Belle. Smiling, Belle returned the hug and after a second pushed Grace away. "Go," she said. "Your Papa's waiting for you."

Belle straightened up and watched Grace run and take Jefferson's hand in hers. They left the library, Grace happily chattering about her new book and what they ought to have for lunch. Belle returned to her seat behind the desk. On the desktop monitor was the Storybrooke Library webpage. For a moment, she considered opening a document and trying to write. But merely the thought hurt. She wouldn't be able to write. She knew it. Angrily, she switched the computer off.

 

* * *

_Friday_

Belle sighed and let her head fall to rest on the circulation desk. She was entirely caught up with all the work that needed to be done at the library. No more paperwork. No more books to be shelved. No more labels to fix. Nothing. There wasn't anyone around who needed her help. Before this writing adventure had begun, she would have read a book, but now not even that sounded appealing to her. She wanted to write. To create. To feel the words pour out of her until she was filled with them and nothing else. But none would come.

"What's the matter, love?" Killian asked, getting up from his computer to join her at the circulation desk.

"What?" Belle asked, lifting her head to properly play dumb.

"Something's up. What is it?"

"Why does everyone ask that?" She was avoiding the question, yes, but she had also been making an effort to hide how upset she was. Why wasn't it working?

"Because you look like you're about to melt into a puddle of tears, that's why," he said. Belle frowned and he sighed. "Come on, what's wrong?"

"I can't write."

"Why not? You have a computer right there. Pull up a word document and type."

She groaned. No one ever understood. They couldn't really. There was no way that someone who had never written could ever understand what it was like to write. How necessary it was. "It doesn't work like that."

"Then how does it work?"

"I can't explain. I just can't write."

Killian shrugged. At least he was the sort of friend who wouldn't press her for explanations. "Can I do anything?"

"Nope."

"Coffee? An iced tea?" he pressed.

"Why are you offering to buy me stuff?" Little alarms were going off in the back of her head. Despite the fact that they were friends, Belle knew Killian's reputation wasn't the best. He was known to engage in not-entirely-legal-but-not-illegal-either activities.

"Cause I'm stealing your WiFi again."

"You don't usually offer to buy me things," she pointed out.

"Yes, well, I'm plugged into your power and stealing your WiFi."

Belle raised her eyebrows at him. He had _never_ offered to buy her things. He stole her WiFi because he couldn't afford his own. How could he possibly afford to buy her food?

"And I took the muffin that went missing last week," he admitted, looking very sorry and pathetic indeed.

"I see." Belle tried to look angry and stern, but after a second burst out laughing.

"See? You're laughing. Life's not all that bad," he said, grinning.

"You still owe me for the muffin."

"Right. I'll be right back." He winked and strode out of the library, leaving his computer and bag sitting on the table. Belle managed to find pointless articles to read on the internet to pass the time. She felt horrible about wasting time, but every time she gently thought that maybe writing might be a good idea, she rejected the notion seconds later.

Activity was slow today. Only a few people came in and out. Belle made small talk with Kathryn Price as she checked out another book for her and nodded at Geoffrey Stoddard as he came in, most likely looking for another magazine. Sometimes Belle wished the library got more traffic, but then there were days like today when she was likely to take her foul mood out on anyone and she was glad this was such a small town.

Killian returned twenty minutes later, a brown paper bag from a nearby pastry shop in his hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "Here you are, love. One coffee and a cherry pastry."

Belle smiled and took the food from him gratefully. She then stood on the rung of her chair to lean over the desk enough to kiss his cheek. "Thanks."

"Anything for a pretty lady like yourself." He winked and grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it.

"Hey! Hands off of her." Geoffrey pulled Killian roughly away from the desk.

"Geoffrey! Stop!" Belle said.

"This is who you're in love with?" Geoffrey snapped at her. "This scamp who can't keep more than a penny in his pocket?"

"Geoffrey!" This was why she didn't want to date him. His temper. Even though the two men were only a few inches apart in height, Geoffrey easily had fifty pounds on Killian. There was no way this would end well if it didn't stop now.

"Back down, boy," Killian said darkly. "I don't like unfair fights."

"Say that again and you're asking for one."

"Geoffrey! Killian! Stop it!" Neither of them listened to her, of course.

"I'll say it as much as you like," Killian said. He was really too cocky for his own good. "Now keep your nose out from where it doesn't belong."

"Keep your hands off Belle. She deserves better than the likes of you."

"What? Hopefully you don't mean yourself." Killian laughed.

"Stay away from her," Geoffrey said. As if Killian ever took orders.

"Boys!" Belle shouted.

"Make me," Killian taunted. Belle could have hit him herself for that idiotic comment if Geoffrey hadn't gotten there first. His fist collided with Killian's face, making a sharp snap as his nose broke.

"That's it!" Belle raced out from behind the desk before Killian could retaliate and grabbed Geoffrey's arm. He didn't resist when she dragged him across the lobby and out the front door of the library. The door swung shut behind her and she stood in front of Geoffrey, arms cross across her chest and a stern look on her face. "Explain yourself."

"You shouldn't be with him Belle. He's no good. He'll just hurt you—"

"I'm not with him, you dimwit!" Belle snapped. She'd wanted to be civil, but she couldn't keep her temper. The _idiots_. "He bought me a coffee because he stole a muffin from me. He's my friend."

Geoffrey looked shocked. "Then... the other man you're in love with—"

"Isn't Killian," Belle finished coldly.

"Oh."

"Yeah." She took a deep breath and opened the door to go back in. "Stay away from me, you hear? And him."

"I'm sorry Belle. I didn't mean—"

"If you didn't mean to hit him, you wouldn't have." She left him outside the library and headed back in. Killian's hands were covering his nose, trying to stem the blood. Thankfully it didn't look like any of it had gotten on the floor. "Come on, you dingbat," she said. "Let's go get you fixed up."

 

* * *

_Monday_

She had called out to him. He'd heard. He hadn't responded, not yet. She wasn't ready. She thought she was. She wanted to write, but he knew she wasn't ready to accept what needed to happen. She would be though. And when she was ready, he would be there.

It was awful, to see her so upset. He watched her force herself through life. She walked past the Pawn Shop every day. She didn't write a single word. She didn't read any of her beloved stories. She only read to try to summon him. It wasn't that easy though. He knew that watching her unseen wasn't the most gentlemanly of things, but he couldn't help himself. He missed her. He needed to be around her. Even when she did see him, she didn't understand. Not yet. She was alive, but just out of his reach. She wasn't quite Belle yet. Almost, but not quite.

So he bided his time, waiting for her to be ready for him.

 

* * *

_Wednesday_

Sitting in Granny's diner with yet another cup of hot chocolate wasn't the best use of her time. The fact that her apartment was lonely and wordless was a poor excuse. No one needed three cups of hot chocolate. Not even librarians with writer's block.

The diner was busy enough that Ruby couldn't keep her company and Mary Margaret sat a couple booths away with David. Belle knew better than to try to join one of their dates. She inwardly groaned to see August Booth heading toward her, a cup of coffee in hand.

"May I sit?" he asked, nodding at the empty seat across from her. Belle nodded. If anyone could understand her problem, he would be able to.

"I heard you've been having trouble writing," he said, his characteristic grin settling in.

"No kidding."

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Not really," Belle said. She took another sip of hot chocolate to finish it off. She'd never mention it to Ruby or Granny, but she was sure she could make better at home.

"You know, when I find myself suffering from writer's block, I often find it helpful to re-read what I've already written," August drawled.

Belle rolled her eyes. She'd done that. Four times. "You know what," she said. "I need to be getting home."

She left a tip on the table and gathered her purse, hurrying away from August's smug grin. He thought he'd been so helpful. But really, Belle didn't want advice. Just sympathy. No one understood. Rumpelstiltskin would. Somehow she knew he would. But he was maddeningly absent, so she was on her own.

 

* * *

_Thursday_

The phone call had been on her machine when she got home after work. She'd listened to it three times, then deleted it with an angry jab of her finger. How dare he?

" _Lizzy, this is Dad. I heard you had a bit of trouble with your date a bit ago. There_ _'s no reason to react badly. Geoffrey's a nice guy. Just give him a chance. He deserves that much at least. Do it for me at least. You need someone. Let me help. I gave Geoffrey tickets to see a movie with you next Saturday. Hopefully he already got up the courage to give them to you. It's been nearly a week since he got them. Just go with him. It will be fun. I love you, Lizzy darling. Talk to you later. Bye._ "

The message ran over and over in her mind. Yes, her Dad meant well, but this was too much. How many times would she have to tell him the she _was not interested_? Grabbing her coat again, she stormed out the door.

By the time she got to her father's house a few blocks away, her rage had grown even more. She rapped on the door, waited barely a second, and pounded again. There was the sound of shuffling and calling from inside and a moment later, her father opened the door.

"Lizzy!" he said. "Did you get my message?"

"Did I get your message?" Belle repeated, her voice tight from anger. "Yes, I got your message," she spat. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did something happen?"

"Yes!" Belle knew the whole street could probably hear her, but she didn't really care. "How many times do I have to tell you? _I_ _'m not interested!_ This is now _twice_ that you've set me up with him in two weeks!"

"Lizzy, you need someone. Geoffrey can take care of you," Moe pleaded.

"I don't need anyone!" Belle shouted. "I can take care of myself. You don't get to decide that for me. I'm a grown woman, not a little girl!"

"Lizzy—"

"Don't call me Lizzy," she snapped. "You know what he did? Do you?"

"What?"

So he didn't know. Fine. He would now. And maybe he'd learn better. "Geoffrey showed up at the library last week and BROKE MY FRIEND'S NOSE."

Moe looked horrified. "He wouldn't. No, he's a good man. Maybe you misunderstood—"

"I didn't misunderstand. He got jealous and broke Killian's nose for talking to me."

"Killian? Killian Jones?" Moe looked angry now. "If that's the sort you're hanging out with, Geoffrey was right to scare him off. He's bad news, Lisabelle."

"Who are you to decide that? You don't even know him!" Belle shouted. If she hadn't been too angry before, she certainly was now.

"He can't hold a job! He lives off that silly music of his—"

"No," Belle interrupted. She was shaking. "No."

"I don't want you anywhere near that Jones fellow—"

"Stay away from me," Belle said. "Don't call me, don't talk to me, don't send Geoffrey after me. I don't want to see you… ever again."

She turned and stalked back down the street, roughly wiping away the scalding tear that fell down her cheek.

 

* * *

_Friday_

"Mary Margaret?" Belle asked over the phone. She was sitting curled up on her couch, as far as possible from her laptop. She'd woken feeling gross this morning from tossing and turning all night. Then Geoffrey had showed up at the library and she'd had to enlist Kathryn's boyfriend to escort him out. She had no food in her apartment again too.

"Yeah? What can I do?" Just hearing her friend's voice made her feel a bit better.

"It's just been an awful day," Belle said. Venting would be nice, but she didn't want to take it out on Mary Margaret if she was busy.

"Alright," Mary Margaret said, her stern, mothering side coming out again. "You're coming over. I'm sending David to pick you up."

"Oh, are you with him?" Belle asked. "I don't want to disrupt your evening—"

"He can survive one without me. You need me more than he does."

"But—"

"No buts. Get ready. He'll be there in five. Do you want hot chocolate or tea?"

"Tea," Belle said and hung up the phone. Part of her wanted to hide from David in her bathroom with the door locked until he went back to his fiancée, but part of her was also glad to see Mary Margaret. After weeks of Rumpelstiltskin following her around, his sudden disappearance had left her feeling lonely.

She didn't end up hiding in her bathroom. Instead she packed a backpack with anything she might need to spend the night—Mary Margaret was unlikely to let her leave. As promised, David picked her up after five minutes, having enough tact not to mention the branches on her trees this time.

Mary Margaret greeted them at the door to her apartment in flannel pajama bottoms and a sweater. She gave David a kiss before shooing him away so she and Belle could have some "girl time". The main room was all set up for them. The lights were low and there were little white candles in brightly colored glasses scattered around. The floor was covered with blankets and pillows. Belle smiled. It was like when they had been teenagers having a sleepover.

"I know you brought pajamas, so change into something comfortable," Mary Margaret instructed. "I'll get the tea and we can talk about whatever's bothering you."

Belle nodded and ducked into the bedroom to change. "Do you want something to eat?" Mary Margaret called. "I don't have much that doesn't require cooking... I have pretzel chips? Do you want those?"

"Sure," Belle said as she emerged.

"Sit," Mary Margaret instructed, nodding to the pile of blankets. "I have frosting around here somewhere. Chocolate or vanilla-oh, I'll bring both."

Belle ignored the command and joined Mary Margaret in the kitchen to take the two cups of tea into the living room. She set them on the low table there. Mary Margaret followed with a bowl of pretzel chips and two plastic containers of frosting. She sat down jerkily, trying not to spill the pretzels everywhere.

"Now," Mary Margaret said, as they sat in the darkened apartment, wrapped in warm blankets. "Tell me what's happened."

Belle leaned back again a pillow and began to tell everything. That she couldn't write. Geoffrey's fight with Killian. Her fight with her father, which then led to the whole disaster of her "date" with Geoffrey. This was Belle's best form of comfort. They'd done this for years together. Blankets on the floor and comfort food to help them talk. Except now instead of a sleepover, they called it a "girl's night".

Mary Margaret listened carefully, not interrupting. At the end of Belle's rant, she just scooted over so she could wrap her arm around Belle. "Do you want me to go hit him?"

"Who?"

"Your father."

Belle laughed. "You don't need to."

"I could ask Ruby to."

"No! He wouldn't survive!" Belle laughed harder at the thought of Ruby marching up to her father's door and shouting at him.

"What do you want me to do?" Mary Margaret asked.

Belle shrugged. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Which one?" Mary Margaret crawled over to the shelf next to the TV. "Something classic? New?"

"Let's go with classic. Familiar is good right now."

Mary Margaret nodded and put in a movie, then crawled back to sit next to Belle. They fell asleep to the credits of _Beauty and the Beast_ hours later, for one night all their worries gone.

 

* * *

_Saturday_

For the sixth night now, Belle pulled out the sofa bed in her living room. She couldn't sleep in the bedroom. Rum was forbidden from appearing there. If he came, if he finally answered, she didn't want to miss him. The sofa bed's mattress was thin and if she rolled the wrong way she'd get a spring in her back, but she didn't want to miss him.

After all, she was desperate to write again. He could help.

Snuggling under the blankets in the darkness, a tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. All the frustration and hurt from the past two weeks poured down her face, soaking her pillow. She wanted to write. That's all. Was that really too much to ask?

She couldn't call Mary Margaret for sympathy again. Though their talk the night before had done worlds of good, it hadn't helped her write. At least some of her anger towards her father was gone, but it wasn't like she could tell her friend about Rumpelstiltskin. She'd sound crazy.

The tears still rolled down her face as she drifted off to sleep, one tear for every word that had gone unwritten.


	14. A Taste of True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wandering child, so lost, so helpless  
> Yearning for my guidance…  
> Angel of Music, I denied you!  
> Turning from true beauty!  
> ~"Wandering Child", Phantom of the Opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter before the new year, guys. Happy 2014 to everyone! Hoping to get back to more regular updates now that the holidays are over. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading :)  
> (Btw, elli.O. is awesome for getting this beta read-she had way more holiday craziness to work around. Everyone cheer for her.)

Of all the things Belle might have expected on a Sunday afternoon, Ruby was not one of them. She showed up uninvited, and when Belle ignored her knocking, she went upstairs and charmed her way in the front door. Belle buried herself further in the blankets of the sofa bed. It was her own fault Ruby could get in—she'd given instructions for them to let her in at any time. But she didn't want to see anyone. It was her day off and she'd planned to enjoy it wallowing in self-pity on the sofa bed.

The sound of Ruby's heeled boots on the wood stairs only worsened Belle's mood. She pulled the blankets tight over her head to block out the sounds of the blinds opening and the TV being shut off. The pillow was still damp under her face from her tears last night. She got a few more moments of warmth and hiding before Ruby ripped off the blankets, tossing them on the floor.

"Go away," she moaned, her face pressed down into her pillow.

"No," Ruby snapped. "I'm not going anywhere. You're a wreck, Belle. Get up."

"Don't want to."

"Why are you even sleeping out here?" Ruby asked. Sunlight poured through the windows, somehow managing to blind Belle through the small gaps between her eyes and pillow. Sadly there didn't seem to be a way to block it out without suffocating herself.

"It's my day off. Leave me alone."

Ruby grabbed her arms and pulled her up so she was sitting on the bed, eyes scrunched up against the bright light of day.

"I won't let you do this," Ruby said. "You've been like this for two weeks. It needs to end. Pull yourself together."

"I can't write." Belle knew she sounded childish, but she didn't care. The words were gone. Just the thought of the feeling that she'd never write again made her want to curl back up under the scratchy blankets of the lumpy sofa bed and sob.

"That's been the story of most of your life," Ruby said. Belle drew a sharp breath, as if she'd been hit in the stomach. Ruby's face softened, somehow managing not to become any less threatening in the process. "It's harsh, but true. You've been here before. You need to get up and pull yourself together.''

Belle blinked back tears, staring off out the window in a direction that was certainly not Ruby.

"Look," Ruby said. "Pretend it's a guy, right? You've had your pity party for two weeks. It's time to move on and show him you can stand without him."

Smiling weakly, Belle raised an eyebrow at her friend. "A guy?"

"Yeah. You get your self-pity party and then you get back up and rub the fact that you're fine now in his face."

"I don't think this is quite the same situation," Belle said. As she spoke, her mind betrayed her words—there _was_ someone she could prove this too. She didn't need Rumpelstiltskin. Well, yes, she did if she wanted to write more, but she could survive without him. She was her own woman. No one decided what she would write, especially not hallucinations of her characters.

"Yes, it is," Ruby said. "Now get out of bed and shower. You and I are going out for the evening."

"We are?" Belle let Ruby help her up and shove her into her bedroom. "Where are we going?"

"Well," Ruby said. "The first step to show you've moved on? Get you a book to read."

 

* * *

 

Ruby's methods proved most effective. After taking Belle to Storybrooke's single bookshop, they got dinner together. Ruby took Belle home early, insisting that she go to sleep in her room and not on the sofa. In one night, Belle laughed more than she had in the past two weeks.

The proper night of sleep did Belle worlds of good. For the first time in weeks, she was free of the despair and weariness that haunted her. She went about her day happily. Truly, nothing spectacular had happened. Just an evening with her friend and a night of sleep in her own bed. That was all. But come that morning, the weight had lifted from her, allowing her to breathe once more.

Now there was a novel tucked away in the little alcove on the circulation desk, pushing away the dust that had gathered there over the past two months. Belle didn't have time to read it while working, but just its presence brought a smile to her face each time she passed it, reminding her that she was fine. She was. It hurt to emotionally abandon her story like this, but she needed to be brave. She needed to face the fact that the words wouldn't come and move on. Ruby had reminded her of what she'd forgotten: if she did the brave thing, bravery would follow.

As it neared time to close, the last few people left the library. No one needed to be evicted tonight, thank goodness. It always broke Belle's heart to have to shoo people away from enjoying books. This evening, Belle was left only with a stack of books to shelve before lights out. She wandered the library, a few of them tucked under her arm. She wasn't worried about being efficient—she wasn't in a hurry to leave. Her heels clacked on the tile, the only sound in the building besides the faint and ever-present ticking of the clock upstairs.

The last book in the stack was a particularly thick one on computer programming that belonged on the top shelf. Confident in her abilities to shelve it without a stepladder, she gripped the side of the bookcase and stood on her toes, pushing it into place with the tips of her fingers. The book slid into place, but she had forgotten that there was no divider between the top shelf and the books on the other side of it. The book opposite fell to the ground with harsh flapping of pages and a loud thump.

"Damn it," she whispered—because after all, this still was a library, even if she was the only one around.

She hurried around to the other side of the shelf. The book was thick and lying face up, open. Belle picked it up gently, checking for bent pages or any other sort of damage. There wasn't anything she could see. Turning it over, she glanced at the cover. _Creative Writing, an Overview_ by V. Eberhardt. It looked as if it had never been off the shelf. Belle brushed her hand over the cover and open pages, sweeping away the hurt of the fall. As she looked it over, she couldn't help but catch the first few lines on the page.

_"One other thing most non-writers do not realize is exactly how little control a writer has over their story. Soon into writing, it is not uncommon for a writer to describe their characters 'taking over' the story..."_

She snapped the book shut with a sigh. The stepladder was on the other side of the library. She'd shelve this one tomorrow. Heading back to the circulation desk for her things, she set the writing book next to the computer.

Outside, Belle drew her coat tighter around her to block out the suddenly freezing wind. The few lines from the book had brought back with startling clarity Rum's voice in her head. _"The story is there, inside your mind._ " She'd heard of this before, of course. She'd heard writers say that their characters took hold of the story they were trying to tell and all they could do was sit back and watch it happen. She'd always dismissed it as crazy. Characters weren't real. They couldn't decide things, yet…

" _It_ _'s playing in front of you_."

Logic, reality, the entire universe told her it was madness. Impossible.

" _All you have to do is reach out and write what you find_."

Her shoes clicked on the cold sidewalk, faster and faster as she hurried home. It was too much. She couldn't take it. It was impossible. Simply impossible.

" _You need to let go of your ideas_."

No. She couldn't. She passed the Pawn Shop, its amber light spilling through the blinds onto the sidewalk. As always, she glanced through the window as she passed. Mr. Gold stood behind the counter, wiping the dust off an antique clock. He looked up just as she glanced his way. Their eyes met for a moment, only a moment, and his face broke into a wide grin. Knowing. Almost… triumphant. It sent a shiver down Belle's already cold spine.

" _Let go_. _"_

She took off down the street, nearly running home. There was no such thing as fast enough. She didn't even know why she was running. But her feet spurred her on and she burst in the door of her apartment, flicking the lights on as she leaned against the door, panting. She half expected to see Rumpelstiltskin sitting on her couch, a pang running through her that he wasn't. It was no matter though. He would come now. She could feel it.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she called. "Rumpelstiltskin, answer me!"

The familiar cloud of purple smoke appeared and she let out a sigh of relief. Once it cleared, he stood before her, characteristic grin on his face. "There's no need to shout, dearie."

"There would be if you showed up when I called," she said. He opened his mouth to retort, but she shook her head. There was no use in starting off with a fight. "Let me speak," she said.

He nodded, sitting on her couch and crossing one leg over the other, hands folded on his ankle to listen.

"Okay…" She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "Okay… you know what? You're insane. You're in my head and I don't know if that means I should listen to you—this is mad. Madness. You hear? It's all insane. But… I'll try. Nothing else works and I have to do something. So what? What do I do?"

Standing, he grinned. "Now we're talking, dearie."

"What do I do?" She stood tall, her back straight, unbending. She might be giving in on this matter, but that did _not_ mean he was in charge—or perhaps it did. What had she just agreed to? She was going to let her characters lead this story? She was going to give in and write whatever they showed her, not the drama she wanted? Yet… she hadn't been doing so well in control. Maybe they'd be better than she. Even though that didn't quite make sense at all. They weren't real. But trying couldn't hurt.

"I think," he said with a grin, "you know the answer to that question."

And she did. It was hard to believe, but she did. The words were there, floating, swirling faster and faster in the forefront of her mind. Not just a few, not just a scene or two, but the thousand and multitudes of words and the _story_. It was there. She could see it. Not clearly, never clearly, but it was there, just waiting to be written down. Trying to see more than just a little was like grasping water—it fell right from her fingers, but left traces of liquid enough to know that this wasn't her imagination. The words were there.

Belle looked up to find Rumpelstiltskin grinning at her, as if he'd seen everything that had just gone through her mind. He probably had, actually.

"I'm going to write," she said, barely containing her excitement. She wanted to dance—no she didn't. She wanted to write. Write and let the words pour from her, unstoppable ink.

 

* * *

 

Scouting assignments like this were simple and straightforward. Important, but not very exciting. Red knew this going in. Still, as the weeks passed, she quickly grew weary of the constant routine of moving and scouting, breaking camp then moving again. The days at camp weren't so bad. There was a sense of home, a place to return to. They would spend their days carrying out their duties and their nights huddled around the fire, laughing together. And on the days when it all became too much to bear, she could volunteer to stay back at camp.

No, the worst part was the days of travel. When they trudged through the frosty forest with everything on their backs all day and into the night. It was a three days' journey from camp to camp. The march was quiet. Usually, Red would walk with Belle, but she was nowhere to be seen. Probably scouting ahead again. It was odd. Belle had never particularly enjoyed being separate from them before. Usually Graeme was the one to walk ahead of them. Red couldn't help but worry for her friend. She was never around. Every spare minute was spent off by herself in the woods.

"Wondering after Princess Belle?" Regina asked, coming up to walk alongside Red.

"Yeah," Red said. She wasn't interested in talking to Regina right now, but there was no one else around. "I'm worried about her."

"As am I," Regina said gravely.

"You are?"

"Yes, of course." She sounded offended. Too offended. "She's been acting so strange lately."

"She's had a rough time."

"Yes. Well." There was a carefully smug tone to Regina voice. The sort that said _I know something and you don_ _'t_.

"What? What is it?" Red demanded, slowing and bit to look Regina in the eye. "Do you know something?" they might be comrades, but Red wouldn't say she and Regina were friends. There were too many memories in the way. After what she did to Snow, Red didn't think she'd ever be able to trust Regina.

"I don't know anything," Regina said, smiling. "I would just hate for some… _error_ to hurt her future."

"Is that a threat?" Red could feel her "talent"—the wolf—rising up inside her. There was a twitch of film over her eyes, and she knew that the change had been visible for a second when Regina's own eyes widened.

"I don't make threats. Not anymore." She was being careful now. Good.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That I'm playing fair this time." Her grin grew more smug and pleased. "But if dear Belle continues on like this, I won't have to do anything but sit back and watch."

With one more smirk, Regina walked faster to catch up to the front of the line. Red watched her go, conflicted. Regina was right for once. Belle could easily be her own enemy here. Who knew what she was doing in the forest when she scouted ahead? What if Regina was right? What if something bigger was going on?

 _Belle, come back to us_.

 

* * *

 

The cursor stopped moving. Belle paused her writing, taking a deep breath. It was exhilarating, wonderful. Just as it all had been. The words were there. The story captured in her fingertips. Only it was better for having been lost for a time.

Now, this scene. She knew what was coming. Nerves piling in her stomach at the prospect of putting words to paper. There was no stopping, no avoiding it. With a deep breath and a gulp of tea, she began to write once more.

 

* * *

 

There was only the sound of her footsteps on the frost-coated leaves. What once had been pure boredom was now peaceful. For the first time in her life, Belle craved being alone. Well, not exactly alone.

She wanted to spend every moment she could with Rumpelstiltskin. He was fascinating like no one else. When she thought about it, really she knew almost nothing about him. But at the same time she felt like she knew him completely. Every bit of him was contradictory, yet that only proved to spark her interest more. He was sweet, then mocking. Dramatic, then shy. Attentive, then distant. And whenever he thought she couldn't see, he got this look in his eye. As if every bit of his heart had been shattered a thousand times over.

Whenever there was a chance for her to get away from the others, she took it. She never stayed back to watch camp. She volunteered to scout the trail ahead of them both for enemies and possible places to camp. In the evenings, she sat by the campfire with the rest, but she didn't laugh or sing with them, preferring rather to stare into the flames. Somehow, her thoughts always brought her back to the Dark One. Her secret.

But why was he a secret? She didn't know what it was, but she felt the need to guard this… friendship from the others. Perhaps it was simple caution. Perhaps she wasn't even sure it was real. It didn't matter. She was careful. They wouldn't know. They couldn't.

Not that anyone else really cared. Snow and Charming were too consumed with worry about returning and the war. Red and Graeme, well, Belle had seen the beginnings of friendship there. She was happy for them. They were her two best friends in the world. They deserved happiness together. Regina wasn't the sort to care about anyone or anything outside herself and Hook… he'd learned long ago when to keep his nose to his own business.

"Feeling pensive today, are we, dearie?" Somehow he managed to materialize not only next to her, but walking in step without a break in either of their strides.

"A bit. Are you?"

"What heavy matters weigh upon your mind?" he asked in a sing-song voice, twirling a strand of her hair around his scaled finger.

"Nothing new." She sighed, shivering a bit as the chill air entered her body. "The usual. Graeme is promised to my best friend. I'm left alone."

"You said you were happy for them."

"I am. But I miss him. I miss being able to sit and talk together. I miss having someone next to me, someone supporting me. It's not that I want him back—I know it's not possible. I just…" She trailed off, her need to voice thoughts aloud ending as she realized what she'd really been saying.

She didn't need Graeme. She needed Rumpelstiltskin. Because that's exactly who he'd become. Someone to talk with. Someone to support her. Someone… no, she wouldn't let her thoughts explore that further. Not now. Not while she was still reeling from the discovery.

"You just what?" Rum asked, his voice quiet for once.

"Nothing," she said. Too quickly, too quickly. She felt as though he could read her mind and know what she though. Know that he meant as much to her as her former fiancé had, once upon a time. "Do you have any stories?" she asked. "You said you'd tell me about some of your dealings."

"Aye, I did," he said, but he didn't sound himself. Something had come now to weigh upon his mind. She wanted to help, to ask what was wrong, but somehow she knew he wouldn't accept her help.

"Well?" she prompted after a few minutes when he said nothing more. He looked up from where he'd been staring at the ground, surprised, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"I—I'm sorry Belle," he said. "I think I'd better go." He sounded distracted, like he was trying to hold up two conversations at once, one of which she couldn't hear or hope to understand. "I'll tell you some other time."

"Why?"

He looked her in the eye now. His brown-gold eyes were clouded over, their expressiveness gone behind high, impenetrable walls around his soul. "It's better this way… This, this was a mistake. I shouldn't have tried—Good-bye Belle."

"Will I see you again?" She was confused, desperate. What had caused such a sudden change? He couldn't go. He couldn't. Not when she'd only just realized how much he meant to her.

"I don't expect so." He stepped away, the only hint of emotion a slight hint of sadness in the corners of his eyes. He was leaving her. Step after step. There was no kindness to simply disappear, no, he was walking away.

"Please don't." Her voice was choked with tears that had sudden welled up but were unwilling to fall.

"What?" He turned, surprised.

"Stay with me. Please."

He came back a couple steps, looking at her closely, honest confusion in his expression. "Why? Why would you ask that?"

"I… I…" Words wouldn't do. They were too definite, too muddled—both at the same time. She didn't know how to say how she felt. She didn't know how to tell him how broken she'd be if he left for good or how much she simply wanted to have him walk beside her, even without words. It was too confusing, too new, too overwhelming. But the longer she was unable to speak the more he closed off, the closer he came to simply vanishing forever. Then her chance would be gone.

So confidently, calmly she stepped forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his leather overcoat and yanking him forward, pulling his head down to meet hers. For all her force in approaching him, their lips met softly, tentatively, neither sure of the other. But the first touch sent a rush of adrenaline and pure bravery shooting through Belle's every vein and she closed the final distance between them. The kiss was everything she had. Every confusing emotion, every secret longing all told to him through the movement of her lips over his, though he was too frozen with shock to respond.

She pulled out of the kiss, stepping back after what seemed to be an eternity, her chest heaving both from need to breathe and awe at her own audacity. Backing against the tree behind her, she tried to catch her breath. She'd just kissed the Dark One. The Sorcerer. Rumpelstiltskin. That was _not_ what she'd expected. At all. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow, she supposed.

"Is that reason enough?" she demanded, proud that her voice didn't shake.

Rumpelstiltskin looked shell-shocked. His eyes wide and jaw slack, he stared at her for a moment before he could gather his thoughts together again.

With one stride, he was barely inches from her once again, his hands on her waist, pulling her against him. She almost gasped, but just as her lips parted with the sound, his mouth covered hers.

This was nothing like her kiss to him. Hers had been frustrated, confused, a girl's kiss. This, this was so much more. He kissed her, his lips slow, achingly slow, every movement measured and enough to make her head spin. She was pressed between the tree and his body, but it didn't feel like she was trapped. All she could feel was him. He kissed her and kissed her again, each one seeming better than the last.

When he wrenched his lips from hers, neither of them could breathe at all and could only stand gasping the cold air. Cold, such a contrast with the pure fire that was flowing through Belle's whole body from the kiss. No one had ever kissed her like that. Ever.

Rumpelstiltskin backed away, his legs wobbling ever so slightly. After another heaving breath he met her eyes and a cloud of purple smoke enshrouded him. When it was gone, Belle was alone with only the memory of him burned onto her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF ACT I


	15. A Few Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart don't fail me now  
> Courage don't desert me  
> Don't turn back now that we're here  
> People always say  
> Life is full of choices  
> No one ever mentions fear…  
> ~"Journey to the Past" Anastasia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies once again for the wait. I recently posted on tumblr about how I've been working on this story-really. (Also, I'm in the middle of a prompt-a-thon if anyone would like to see something written. Hope to see you there.) Thank you for reading and so many thanks to elli.O. for editing this so quickly (both versions). Enjoy Act II!

The trees were shorter with every passing day. Freezing wind swirled in and around them harshly without the branches to break its speed. Thin air slowed the company's progress. Red was faring better than the rest. It seemed the wolf was used to conserving breath to run.

They made camp in the lee of a mound of rocks. Red did her best to clear the thin layer of snow from where she set up their shelters. Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. Little rocks and wet sand weren't comfortable to lie on.

She tried to fit the shelters in the tightest circle possible. Everyone else scurried about to get their own tasks done as quickly as they could. The wind bit at every speck of exposed skin. Firewood was scarcer up here, so Red was on her own with the shelters while everyone else focused on building a fire—it wouldn't do to run out of wood in the middle of the night. The shelters went up with little trouble, years of practice making the job easy. On the last one though, the wind picked up again, snatching the final corner of canvass from Red's hands. Yelping, she tried to grab it, but the wind was faster than she, pulling at the canvas and threatening to rip out the posts securing the other corners to the ground.

"Need some help?" Hook asked, joining her and eying the corner flapping several inches above Red's outstretched hand. With ease, his hook reached it, pulling it back down. Red guided the canvas' hole around the hook, replacing it with the post. Hook helped her drive it into the ground, though he seemed unable to keep his eyes from wandering to her body rather than their task.

"Thanks." Red sat down within the shelter, enjoying the relief from the cold wind. Everything seemed dead up here. There wasn't enough snow to cover the ground completely. It only made everything wet and cold. There was no sign of animals or birds. Wind and rock—that was all they were left with.

Hook sat down next to her and pulled a small metal flask from within his coat. He took a gulp from it, shuddering as he swallowed. "Powerful stuff," he said. "Want some?"

"I thought Charming told you not to bring alcohol with you," she said, taking a sip from the flask. It burned on the way down, warming her better than the shelter ever could.

"I chose to loosely interpret that instruction," Hook said, taking his precious rum back and hiding it in his coat.

"Evidently."

"Once a pirate, always a pirate, love." He grinned, nudging her side with his elbow. "I have to ask," he said when she didn't return his smile, "are we actually tracking ogres right now, or blindly hoping we run into some?"

"We haven't seen any signs, but that doesn't mean there aren't any."

"Blindly hoping, then." He winced as Red smacked his chest. "Don't think I'm objecting—I'm content as a cucumber to wander these mountains as long as necessary."

Red raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really." He leaned back and stretched his legs out so he was reclining, supported by his arms. "My execution was called off on the condition that I serve in the Prince's company. If the Prince's company ceases to exist…" He shrugged.

Red nodded absently, looking out to the rest of their companions. Graeme and Regina worked to start the fire. Or rather, he grudgingly accepted the help of the sorceress. Even the Huntsman couldn't be expected to light a fire from snow and sand. But Red could see his displeasure in the curt tension of his movements. She couldn't hear his voice, but she could imagine his words bordering on rudeness. He belonged here, in the wild. She wondered what he wished would happen. Without the company would he prefer to return to the forest? Perhaps they both could. The wolf within her certainly wouldn't mind.

"With the King's recent attitude, I'm not hopeful for any of us," Red said, shaking her head to clear it of fantasies. She and Graeme would be expected to stay at the castle like good little nobles. Tamed wolves.

"Thanks," Hook muttered. "Makes me feel better. I'm the one who might be missing a head once we return."

"Who says we'll have to stay?" Red asked. "Either Belle or Regina will be given Charming's place. The company won't be completely dissolved."

Hook laughed. "No one's going to stay. This is the end."

"What do you mean? I'd stay."

"You and no one else," he said bitterly. "Look, there are what, seven of us? Snow and Charming are leaving. That leaves five."

"We could keep going with five."

"I'm not done. Either Regina or Belle will be leader, the other one won't stay. If Belle loses, she'll want to stay in the library—she was only ever here for Snow and Graeme. If Regina loses, she'll be too bitter to follow Belle's leadership. So there's one gone." Hook held up his hand, ticking off one finger. "Graeme only came in the first place to protect Snow from Regina. Even if Belle wins, he's with you now, so won't stay because it's too painful to be around her." Another finger down. "That leaves you and I, along with whoever wins. You're not going to be allowed to stay for long—the King won't allow you to simply leave after your marriage. You'll have to stick with Graeme." Another finger. "I don't fancy being alone with Regina and Belle would ask permission to decline if it were just the two of us." His hand dropped to his lap. "There will be no more company. It's over."

"King George will replace the people we lose," Red said. "You could stay with them."

"Who would he replace us with? There isn't anyone. Everyone who can fight is at the fronts. We're the last scouting group out there."

Red sighed. He had a point. Many points, actually. This was the end. They would return to the Castle and go their separate ways. She would be required to play the part of a blushing bride whose true love hadn't been executed. And Hook would likely be sent to the front if he wasn't executed on the spot. There was no hurry to find the ogres in these mountains. Their only reason to hurry was lack of food and warmth at this altitude.

"I don't mean to upset you," Hook said. "But we have to face the facts. Things aren't going to be the same ever again."

 

* * *

 

The alarm on Belle's phone went off, pulling her back to reality. She saved her story to her flash drive and pocketed it, hoping she'd have more time to write during work. A Tuesday shouldn't be too busy. Unless there was an elementary class coming for story time? She couldn't remember. They'd finished _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ last week. The children seemed excited to start _The Horse and His Boy_ next—Belle's favorite of the series.

Shutting down her laptop, Belle got up, only to trip over a stack of books on the floor. The books of fairy tales. She hadn't returned them. In her despair, she hadn't the will to, and in her elation at writing again, she'd forgotten. For the first time in over a week, she took a proper look at her apartment.

It was a mess. Books covered most of the floor. There were dishes on every surface and wads of crumpled up paper thrown about the room. Blankets draped over the sofa, trailing off where her feet had caught on them. The cupboards in the kitchen stood open and little rings of tea stains marked the counters. The mess had built up slowly over the course of days, so she hadn't noticed until now.

All of it had to go.

Wishing for a magic wand, or at least some extra time, Belle gathered as many of the fairy tale books as she could and piled them in her little red shopping wagon. She managed to fit about half of them in without fear of them falling out into the snow. It would have to do. She glanced at the time, muttering curse words and gibberish under her breath at how late it had gotten. Her shoes were by the door. Her coat in her bedroom closet. Her house keys by the sink and her phone on the desk. Her purse hung on the foot board and she found her second sock in the mess of unmade sheets.

Everything in place on her person, Belle scooped up another half dozen fairy books in her arms. She looked around for anything she'd possibly forgotten, but it was impossible to tell. Dragging her wagon behind her, she made for the door, grabbing her personal copy of _The Horse and His Boy._ Just in case.

Outside was bitterly cold. Icicles hung from the branches of her overgrown trees. Their weight made the branches bow enough to possibly let a car through unscathed. The snow had finally accumulated enough to cover the grass. It was like the world had transformed overnight, turning from Belle's mundane reality to a place glittering with magic. Perhaps this was what Edmund had felt in Narnia before meeting the White Witch. The curiosity and magic. Like home, but not. Although it was unlikely the White Witch had anything to do with the weather in Storybrooke. Only her characters showed up here.

Re-reading the book with the children had been a rather surreal experience for Belle. It had been years since she'd read it. First the middle school "I'm too cool for this", then the following years full of reading older and "more sophisticated" things, then work and life and writing. Re-reading was like greeting an old friend. Each sentence was new and fresh, yet at the same time hauntingly familiar. Every feeling, every love she'd felt as a child was there, feelings more innocent than she'd remembered they could be, layered side by side with her grown-up thoughts. While still loving, they were tinged with knowledge and experience, a sadness and mourning for the childish innocence. She'd desperately wanted to read it like she always had—like the children sitting at her feet were hearing it. Perhaps that was the mourning: that she couldn't go back.

"Lost in thought, are we dearie?"

Startled by Rumpelstiltskin's sudden appearance, Belle stumbled, the top few books sliding from her arms. Rum caught them before they hit the ground and smoothed out their ruffled pages and covers before tucking them under his arm. His other hand came to rest on the small of her back, helping her balance.

"Don't _do_ that," Belle scolded. "I hope next time you appear, you trip on a rock and fall on your face."

He giggled. "Not a 'thank you' for saving your precious books? I'm sure you don't truly mean that curse."

"Thanks," she muttered. She didn't really want him to fall, as amusing as it might be. Not that she would tell him that. "I suppose you're happy."

"Whatever do you mean?" he said, his voice rising and falling dramatically.

Belle rolled her eyes. "You got kissed, didn't you?"

"So?"

"It's only what you've been after ever since you showed up," she snapped.

Shrugging, he waved his hand dismissively. "It was just a kiss."

"You—" Her word ended in a shriek as her foot slipped on a patch of ice and she began to fall again. Rumpelstiltskin wasn't fast enough to catch her. She landed hard on her rear, somehow managing to keep a grip on her books through the shock that shook her body.

"Belle! Are you okay?" David ran to her from across the street. He knelt beside her, unable to see Rum, who was frowning at him.

"Yeah," Belle gasped. "Yeah… just… ow."

"Ow indeed," David said. He took the books from her and set them on top of the stacks in the wagon. "Come on, up we go." He helped her up, letting her lean on him a moment to finish catching her breath. "You okay?"

"I will be," Belle said, stepping back and smoothing down her skirt. "Nothing feels broken."

"That's good." David took the rest of the books from her and they started down the street, the wagon making little squeaks and hiccups as it rolled over the bumps in the sidewalk. "I'm glad to see you up and around."

"Yeah, I'm writing again," Belle said. Rum walked on her other side, his arms crossed. So the Dark One didn't like being replaced with a real person? Perhaps next time he wouldn't be so infuriating. David was being pleasant, Rum wasn't.

"That's awesome," David said. "You got over your problem?"

"Yeah," Belle said, not looking at Rum. "And you? How have you been?"

David shrugged. "Good enough. Life as usual."

"No wedding planning?" Belle asked. Rum snickered. Belle pretended to stumble on a sidewalk crack to elbow him in the side.

"Mary Margaret is happy without much of my help," David said. "I think I'm here for moral support."

Belle laughed. "Sounds like Mary Margaret."

"Yeah, well, it's good with all the excitement at the shelter."

"Oh?" Belle knew the animal shelter wasn't usually an exciting job. Storybrooke simply wasn't big enough to have that many animal problems. It was probably part of the reason Mr. Nolan didn't like that David worked there.

David nodded. "There was a dog brought in last night. He's hurt pretty bad."

"What's wrong with him?"

"We don't know. Dr. Whale came down last night to help, but it's hard to see."

Rum began to walk in front of them, mimicking David's walk and expressions. He simply looked ridiculous trying to move his arms without losing hold of the books he'd taken from her. Belle gave him a glare. "Why?" she asked David.

"It's been out in the wild for a while, and it's got this really long, thick, gold fur. Its leg is hurt pretty bad, but there's so much hair in the way, it's almost impossible to see the real problem."

"Poor thing," Belle said.

"Yeah," David said. "We're getting close though. It looks like we're going to have to surgically repair its leg. They sent me to get coffee and breakfast so we can keep working."

"Good luck," Belle said, coming to a stop in front of Granny's.

"Thanks," David said, handing her books back to her. Belle grinned and continued down the sidewalk, looking around for Rum. But he was no where to be found.

On the front desk of the library, three books were stacked. The top one was a copy of _The Horse and His Boy_ , with the name "Belle French" written on the inside cover.

 

* * *

 

Ruby's heels clicked on the tile floor as she brought Belle's hot chocolate to her. It was colder out every day. For most of the day, Belle didn't mind. She was indoors, either at the library or at home. The ice was pretty to look at and she had an excuse to bury herself in warm blankets while she wrote. But she was also really regretting her assumption that a car wasn't necessary in such a small town with every step on her way home.

The hot chocolate's ceramic mug was delightfully warm under her cold fingers. Ruby leaned against the counter across from her and grinned.

"So how's it going?" she asked.

"How's what going?"

"You know… getting over your ex-story," she said. "You seem better to me."

"Oh," Belle said. In her excitement at seeing Rum and writing again, she'd forgotten to tell her friend she was back to writing. True, she hadn't actually seen Rum since yesterday morning, but she figured he'd show up again once he'd stopped sulking. "About that—"

"You didn't," Ruby groaned.

"Yeah. I'm writing again." Belle grinned and gave Ruby a half shrug, quickly taking a sip of her hot chocolate to have something to avoid Ruby's look with. The hot liquid burned her tongue and throat on the way down. The diner was nearly empty, only a few conversations punctuated the silence. The bell on the door rang as it opened.

"After all that?" Ruby cried. "We had to deal with a whole two weeks of your moping, and now you're fine?" She threw her hands up in the air. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"What seems to be the trouble here?" Graham said, sitting down next to Belle and shrugging off his coat.

"Belle," Ruby said. Belle rolled her eyes. She did feel bad for making Ruby deal with her not writing like that, but even the memory of the despair she'd felt sent a shiver down her spine.

"Really?" Graham said. "What's she doing?"

"Being infuriating," Ruby said. "What can I get you?"

"Don't change the subject on me," he said, failing to sound business-like. His hair was mussed from the hood of his coat and his cheeks were red with cold. Seemed Belle wasn't the only one walking instead of driving today.

"It's her story, she can tell," Ruby said, giving Belle another annoyed look between her flirting smiles at Graham. He turned to look at Belle, waiting for her to tell. Belle took another gulp of her hot chocolate, but Ruby didn't take the hint and start talking instead. Belle swallowed jerkily. The chocolate was sweet and rich, but burned her throat.

"It's nothing much," she said. "I just got over a case of writer's block."

"Congratulation," Graham said.

" _Got over a case of writer_ _'s block?_ " Ruby scoffed. "More like you agonized for _weeks_ and I had to deal with _all_ of it. And then when you _finally_ decide to give up on the story, you can all of a sudden write again!"

"I meant it, Ruby!" Belle insisted. "Honestly, I was giving it up. I don't know—the inspiration just came back." Because she called him, but she didn't think mentioning her imaginary friend would win any points with Ruby.

Ruby snorted. "Yeah. I noticed." She turned to Graham. "So what can I get you this evening?"

"A bowl of soup," Graham said. "It's gotten colder out there again."

"One bowl of soup coming up," Ruby said, her grin lighting up her whole face. Graham smiled back at her, watching her as she flounced off to the kitchen. Order placed, she returned and leaned forward on the counter, looking straight at Graham.

"Anything else?" she asked. Belle wondered why she didn't just kiss him right there. Awkwardly, she gulped down the rest of her hot chocolate and pulled on her coat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ruby," she said. Ruby nodded, not looking away from the staring contest she was having with Graham. Well, perhaps staring contest wasn't the right term, but she didn't really want to sit there and watch her friend flirt, no matter how worthy of flirting the guy might be.

The cold hit her like she had plunged into icy water. It enveloped her, attacking every bit of exposed skin. Digging her hands into her coat pockets and scrunching her shoulders so her neck was better protected, Belle hurried down the street.

As she came upon Gold's Pawn Shop, she slowed. The lights inside were warm and golden like they always were, and somehow when she looked in the windows, she didn't feel the cold as much. Mr. Gold was behind the counter, as usual, working on something she couldn't see. She wondered how it was that he was always there when she passed. Could it truly be that he waited for her? Did he enjoy the moments where their eyes met as much as she? Or was it pure chance and only her?

He looked up as she passed the first window and their eyes met. Belle's breath caught in her throat, nerves appearing from nowhere to settle in her stomach. Courage. Summoning as much as she had, she forced her lips up into a smile. He seemed surprised at the expression. His eyes widened and he seemed unable to move. Just as she reached the end of the little strip of sidewalk in front of his shop and her lips began to fall, disappointment creeping in, she could have sworn he smiled back.


	16. A Fairy Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm in love with a fairytale,  
> Even though it hurts.  
> I don't care if I lose my mind;  
> I'm already cursed.  
> ~"Fairytale" Alexander Rybak

"Madam, I regret to inform you that your WiFi is broken," Killian said, leaning against the circulation desk. Aside from the white medical tape on his nose, he seemed as healthy as ever. Apparently tape wasn't too great an offense to his handsome visage for him to be out in public. Or he simply got lonely.

"No it isn't," Belle said, not giving him much attention. There was a stack of books to be inspected for alleged damage on her desk, and a cup of hot coffee sitting beside them in a blue ceramic mug. She'd wanted to attend to both, but she hadn't yet had time between a multitude of distractions and, now, a disappointed would-be internet pirate.

"Yes, it is," Killian insisted. "I can't get it to connect."

"Hmm, really?" She smiled a bit as she turned her computer screen to show him the functioning internet browser. "It seems to be working for me."

He frowned, leaning forward to examine the screen. He shook his head and leaned back. "It's still broken. I can't get it on mine."

"Broken isn't the same as secure," Belle said. "We have a new system."

Killian's eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped open and shut several times. "A new system?"

"Apparently the systems check showed that the old system was venerable to hacking. The mayor's office had it replaced immediately." She grinned. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes! How am I supposed to get internet now?" Killian slapped the desk in frustration. Belle pursed her lips in her best strict-librarian glare and his hand slid down to his side. "Sorry, love."

"Certainly a little systems change isn't too much for the great Killian Jones," she said. She bit her lip and gave him a mock-coy smirk, delicately twirling the spoon in her coffee.

"Nothing is too much with a lovely lady such as yourself at my side," he said, winking at her over a glare.

Belle rested her chin on her hand. "Oh really? Why don't you prove it?"

"My pleasure," he said acidly. With an extravagant bow, he retreated to his table, where he began furiously typing. Amused, Belle watched him for a minute. She did hope that he'd be able to get internet, but couldn't in good conscience tell him how to hack her WiFi. He'd figure it out.

The first book in her queue was an old copy of _Howl_ _'s Moving Castle_. It looked well-loved by many children, its spine creased and pages bent a little. The sticky note on the front said there was a page missing in chapter three. Belle turned to the beginning of the chapter and began to read, figuring if there was a page missing, she'd find it that way. The book was another old friend and it was comforting to slip into its familiar, whimsical world.

"Miss Belle?" Grace Hatter was barely tall enough to see over the desk. She slid a book onto it. "I'd like this one please."

Belle smiled and marked her place in her book. Grace's novel scanned with no trouble. "How are you today, Grace?"

"I'm good." The girl took the book back from Belle and hugged it to her chest. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She turned to Jefferson, who stood behind his daughter, watching her. There was a look in his eyes, like he'd never seen anything more perfect than his little girl. "Mr. Hatter? Anything for you?"

Jefferson looked up, surprised to be addressed. "No, just this for Grace today. Although…" He pulled an envelope from his jacket and handed it to her. "This was propped up on the front window."

Belle turned it over. It was stamped with the mayor's seal. As ridiculous as it was for the mayor of a small town to have a seal, Cora Mills somehow pulled it off. It was odd though. Official letters were rarely good news. Squelching the uneasiness that rose in her stomach, Belle set the letter aside. "Thank you for bringing it in."

"Glad to help." Jefferson smiled at Grace. "Ready to go, sweetheart?"

"Just one minute." Grace handed her book to her father and beckoned with her finger for Belle to come to her. Jumping down from her tall chair, Belle came around the counter and knelt down to Grace's height.

"What is it?"

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Grace asked.

"What?" A vague memory… what had she been looking for?

"You said you'd find him when he wanted to be found. Did you?" She smiled. "I think you did. You're happy now."

"Yes, I'm happy now," Belle said, glancing back to the computer. Her story was on the screen, the cursor blinking at the end of the last word. "I found it."

Grace threw her arms around Belle. "I knew you would," she whispered. "I knew it."

Hugging the girl back, Belle smiled to herself. Things were so much better. The letter weighed on the back of her mind, as if she could feel its presence on the desk. Whatever it brought, she was writing again. All couldn't be lost as long as she had words.

Grace held her father's hand as she skipped out of the library, chattering to him about the book he held for her. Belle returned to her place behind the desk. The letter sat there in front of her, black ink on the white stationary. Black wax seal. Taking a deep breath, she picked it up.

"What have you got there, love?" Killian asked. Once again, he leaned against the counter. He eyed the envelope suspiciously, as if it would turn her hands blue at the slightest provocation.

Belle glared at him. "What is it now? I'm not giving you the password."

"I wasn't asking." He grinned and winked, his eyes not leaving the envelope for more than a moment. "I cracked it ten minutes ago."

"And you came over here why? Just to tell me that?" She tucked the letter on the shelf beneath the desk. He relaxed immediately with the threat out of sight.

"What can I say?" he asked. "I can't keep myself away from you."

Laughing, she rolled her eyes. As annoying as he could be sometimes, Belle was glad to see him up and about. He was a social person. Staying at home because of his vanity couldn't have been good for him.

"So are you back to life in general, or did you simply need to check email?" she asked.

"Back to life, sadly." His flirtatious grin dropped. "I realized I don't have the money to stay in my apartment indefinitely."

"Sadly," Belle echoed. "You're back at the shipyard then?"

"For now. I'm looking to see if I can get an audition somewhere. Not just a gig at a diner—a proper audition."

"Still planning on leaving at first chance?" Unconsciously, her fingers began to play with the envelope. The paper was crisp, the wax crumbled a bit under her touch. It felt like it came from a cheap candle. Knowing the mayor's attitude, Belle probably wasn't considered worth high-quality wax.

"Yeah. I need to get out of here." A new grin spread across Killian's face. "But know this, fair maiden: my heart will long for you with every minute of our parting."

Belle grinned and let him brush his lips over the back of her hand. "Don't you have work to do?" she asked.

"Do you insist?"

Her fingers traced the pattern in the wax. More bits of it crumbled away. She nodded, and Killian sighed. Once he'd returned to his computer, Belle set the letter on the desk again. She rummaged in the drawers for a letter opener—she didn't trust herself not to accidentally rip the whole thing if she tried to break the seal. The letter opener was buried beneath stray pens and scraps of paper that littered the drawer. It was a curious thing, beautiful really. It was shaped like a miniature ornamental knife. The blade was silver, the hilt a pattern of gold and light blue, hinting at an age of fantasy and royalty and dragons guarding buried treasure. It wasn't the sort of thing for a small-town library. Then again, neither did a wax seal belong on office issue stationary.

"Belle? What's that?" Mary Margaret frowned a bit at it, though she was unable to read the return address.

Swallowing her frustration, Belle stuffed the letter and opener in the drawer and shut it. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Mary Margaret looked entirely unconvinced. "Doesn't look like nothing to me."

"It's official stuff," Belle said dismissively. "Probably cutting my funds again. How are you?"

"I'm doing okay." She sounded as if she was convincing herself of it. Confident, but forcedly so. "Nothing unexpected."

"What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Daddy's getting worse again," Mary Margaret said, lowering her voice. Her father's health had always been a sensitive issue for her. Leo Blanchard had been in and out of the hospital for most of Mary Margaret's life, more and more often as the years went on. Just because it was routine didn't make it easier.

"I'm so sorry," Belle said. She reached over to take Mary Margaret's hand.

"It's just the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary." But there were tears in her eyes. "I just… With Graham home, I'd hoped we could all be together this year."

Belle frowned, taking a moment to realize what Mary Margaret was talking about. Oh yes, the holidays. With all of her personal problems and lack of decent family, Belle had forgotten.

"These visits never last long," Belle said. "He'll be out in time for next week. Everything will be okay."

Mary Margaret nodded, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I know. I just worry whenever this happens." She took a deep breath and gave her best smile. "Do you have a few extra copies of _The Phantom Tollbooth_? Seems some were never returned last year."

"Of course," Belle said. "As long as I get them back." She jumped down from her chair and headed back into the stacks of books, running her fingers along the spines as she searched for the proper one. _H_ _… I… J… J-U… J-U-S—Juster_. Belle pulled the copies from the shelf and headed back. "Is two enough? Or do you need—"

She broke off suddenly. In Mary Margaret's hands was the mayor's letter.

"What are you doing with that?" she snapped, rushing forward and snatching the letter away.

"What are you doing with a letter from Cora Mills?" Mary Margaret said. Her face was pale and her voice guarded.

"I haven't read it yet. It arrived this morning. What's the big deal? I told you. It's probably cutting the library's funds again."

"Open it," Mary Margaret ordered.

"What's it to you? It's just a letter."

"Open it. Anything from Cora is bad news."

"Tell me what's going on and I will," Belle said. This was strange. Mary Margaret didn't get scared like this. She didn't give orders. "What has Cora done?"

"It… it's probably nothing." She looked over her shoulder to check that Killian wasn't eavesdropping. "But Regina shows up whenever Daddy's in the hospital. Cora sends her. She never stays long—she hates doing it—but she always leaves a letter from Cora. A get-well card on behalf of the town, you know? But… it's strange. Daddy doesn't open them anymore. He chucks them in the trash. He says they're all the same."

"I'm not sick," Belle pointed out. "I doubt it's a get-well card."

"Still, Cora's up to no good," Mary Margaret insisted. "Open it. Please?"

Belle fetched the letter opener from the drawer and slit the top of the envelope. She handed both the envelope and letter opener to Mary Margaret and unfolded the letter. It was simple: plain type with _Storybrooke Mayor_ _'s Office_ across the top. Typically official. Not a get-well card. Belle scanned the letter, her frown relaxing as she did so.

"Well?" Mary Margaret asked.

Handing over the letter, Belle said, "It will be five years since the library's opening after the holidays. Mayor Mills would like to hold a celebration. See? It's nothing to worry about."

Mary Margaret finished the letter and frowned. "I'm not so sure. Why would she do this? We've never celebrated the anniversary of something before. _To honor dedicated service to the town of Storybrooke_ —Don't you think that sounds awfully forced?"

"It's the mayor," Belle said, taking the letter back and returning it to its envelope. "Everything kind from her sounds forced."

"Just keep a close eye on this," Mary Margaret said. "I'm not saying you should refuse—just don't underestimate her."

Belle rolled her eyes. "What could possibly happen? She's the mayor, not some evil sorceress. There's nothing to worry about." She smiled and sat back on her chair behind the desk. "All this means is that I'll have more work to do. Nothing else."

 

* * *

 

The sun set in a magnificent orange blaze across the sky. None of the company was awake enough to care. The day had been long and cold. The temperature would drop even further soon after sunset. Dinner was a short affair in favor of retreating to the shelters for the night. For everyone except Belle.

"Good night, love," Hook said, winking at her before slipping into his shelter like the others. Belle shifted closer to the fire and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Watch tonight was going to be miserable.

Alone with the flames, there was nothing to distract Belle from the cold and the sounds of the wind in the trees and rocks. Time was her enemy, more and more with each passing second. Because each second was one second closer to returning to the Castle. One second closer to the end.

Perhaps it had always been this way. It seemed that she'd been a prisoner to time all her life. Everyone was, really. Her father had reached the end of his time. It had been of his own folly and pride. Cut down by ogres because he was too proud of think of retreating. Snow's father had died before his time as well, but of illness. The weak general died in battle and the great king in a sickroom bed after years of suffering.

Their time had come in death, but Belle could only feel that hers would end in a library, with her pushed away between stacks of pages, forgotten like the stories they told. Every moment seemed to tell her so as time ticked steadily forward towards the end. Her dread grew with every tick.

She didn't fear it like she once had. Graeme was lost to her, her friends would go their own ways. A permanent break would only make things easier. Truly, she should be looking forward to caring for the library and all its wayward books. She didn't fear Regina's leadership or the King's edicts. No, those fears were gone.

Somehow she knew the Dark One would not return with her.

He wouldn't like the Castle. It would be cruel to confine him to a single room, even if said room was overflowing with books. To force him to be invisible all the time… What was she even thinking? That he would want to stay? There was no place for him in the Castle, except as King George's prisoner. In the end, she would return without him, and he would go on with whatever life he'd led before. The thought filled her with an awful dread. His friendship over these past weeks had meant the world to her. Then their kiss last time she'd seen him.

She could think of nothing else. Over and over she'd replayed it in her head. Dwelling on it. She hadn't seen him since, but she looked forward to it. Too early to know what had changed with that kiss, anticipation was all she had. He'd run away. She tried not to let that hurt—there had to be an explanation. There had to be.

A gust of cold wind managed to chill the back of Belle's neck. She huddled farther down into her blanket, inching once again toward the fire. She wished to be back in her shelter, huddled up next to Red for warmth. Tonight was not the night to keep watch. She'd been on her feet all day. The only thing that kept her awake was the wind.

For once she heard him coming before she saw him. The sand and rocks beneath his boots scratched against each other. He was as quiet as ever, but still she smiled.

"Rum?"

"Yes, dearie." He sat on the rock next to her, elegantly crossing his legs and resting his arms on them. A thick red cloak, lined with fur, was draped over his shoulders. It made him look smaller than usual, but also warmer. "Stuck on watch tonight?"

Belle nodded, yawning. "It's my turn until midnight. Then I wake Red."

"You have a while to go."

"I know." Leaning over, she rested her head on his shoulder. The fur on his cloak was soft and thick, lovely to rest on. Her eyes began to fall shut, until a soft golden light illuminated the camp.

"It's a warming spell," Rum said. "To keep the wind away so you can sleep."

"But I can't sleep. I'm supposed to keep watch—"

"I can do that well enough." He wrapped his arm around her so she was inside the cloak, but could still rest her head on fur rather than leather. "Rest, sweetheart. I'll stay."

"Tell me a story?" she murmured. She wasn't sure what possessed her to ask for such a thing, but his voice. It was so expressive, so soothing. She wanted to listen to it forever. She was so warm and sleepy. Vaguely she remembered wanting to talk to him, confront him, but she couldn't recall what about. For the first time in days, true warmth enveloped her. Sleep. Just sleep.

"A story about what?"

"Something true," she said. "All the best stories really happened."

He laughed, almost bitterly. "If you say so."

"I do."

"Very well." He cleared his throat and pulled her closer. "Once upon a time, there were three villains. They wielded dark magic and were feared by all the lands. The first was the Mage. No man but himself knew how he came to posses his dark powers. He took an apprentice—a desperate man with no choice but to agree. Soon his apprentice grew in power and became known as the Sorcerer. At his master's urging, the Sorcerer too sought an apprentice. He found a girl, desperate as he once had been. But she was not like him. She soon became known as the Witch and was more cunning, more like the Mage than himself."

He trailed off and Belle poked his side. "Go on."

"Fortunately for the realms, they maintained a tacit peace among themselves. Each knew that they held the power to destroy everything they wished, so to avoid conflict, they ignored each other. The Mage roamed the countrysides, creating trouble for himself to magically fix—for a price. He took amusement in seeing the suffering of others."

"Did he start the war?" Belle was barely awake. Rum's words swirled around in her head, twisting together in ways that both did and didn't make sense.

"Yes, sweetheart, he did." Rum's hand brushed her hair off her face, gently untangling the curls and smoothing them out. "The Witch was obsessed with power. It didn't take long for the Sorcerer to teach her all he could. She wanted not just magic, but status. Ever she climbed higher in the nobility, determined to become royalty. Her puppet of a husband followed her without question. She was ruthless, willing to lie and even kill to advance her position."

"And the Sorcerer?" She nudged his hand with her shoulder so he would continue to smooth out her hair.

"He retreated to his castle in the mountains. He saw no one but those who were as desperate as he once was. He was the Dealmaker. Neither truly good or truly evil, he offered solutions and their price to anyone willing to pay. People feared him, or rather the legend of him. He was lonely in his castle, yes, but neither did he wish to force companionship as the Witch did.

"Cursed with immortality, the three Dark Ones faded into legend with the passing of the years. People came to doubt their existence. Secretly, the three met. Rumors began to spread of a curse, a curse with the highest price. The Mage wished to cast it. He would enjoy watching the misery it would cause. The Sorcerer wished for it to be hidden, forgotten. He'd helped create it for his own reasons, only to discover that what he hoped was impossible. The Witch decided for them. They would not cast it. She was happy—her daughter had recently been crowned Queen. There was no need for a curse."

"Did they argue?"

"A little, but without magic. The curse was hidden deep within the mountains and the Dark Ones returned to their lives." His hand brushed against her cheek. His fingers were warm. "Years later, the Sorcerer made another deal. It was the usual: pick up the Mage's mess and save another village from ogres. Yet this time, the price was unique. Seeing that the village had nothing else to offer, the Sorcerer demanded the daughter of the village's lord to be his caretaker.

"She came to stay with him, and, somehow he fell in love with her. She was kind and beautiful, intelligent—obsessed with books—"

"Like me?"

"Yes, sweetheart, like you."

"This girl, did she love you back?"

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, his fingers twisted in her hair. It didn't hurt, but was pleasant rather. "She did fall in love with the Sorcerer. But he was a fool. Suspicious of the Witch's interference, he suspected the girl of being a spy. He cast her out, cruelly. Even as he did so, he regretted it. Without her he fell into mourning. He turned away all deals. He retreated into his sorrow.

"News of the Sorcerer's broken heart reached the Witch. She celebrated her success. For it was she who had planted the seeds of suspicion in the Sorcerer. She had seen how much sway the girl had over him and was determined that no one would have that power. Her husband had been a puppet, worthless, as the Mage's lovers had been. But this girl was different. A wild card. So when the Sorcerer began to search for his love, the Witch and the Mage held a secret meeting."

Belle nodded against the fur cloak to show that she was still listening. With every moment she drifted closer to sleep.

"They recovered the Dark Curse from its hiding place. If the Sorcerer would betray them and give his heart to a mortal girl, he would be punished. So they plotted in secret, gathering what they needed to cast the curse. The Sorcerer never found his love. He grew close, but not soon enough. The curse was cast.

"It spread over all the realms, splitting them in two. Each soul, each story, each reality was split between two lands, leaving a feeling that something was empty, something wasn't quite right. No one could remember anything different anymore, so the feeling was ignored. Everyone became half a person with two fake lives. Only the Dark Ones remembered who they were. They lived in both lands, able to switch back and forth. So the Sorcerer and his love were separated, doomed to spend their lives apart. He would know who she was, but neither half of her would know him."

He took a deep breath. Belle was all but sleeping, his words washing over her like a dream.

"He was a fool." His voice was bitter. "No villain can hope for a happy ending."


	17. An Old and Unwelcome Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twisted every way,  
> What answer can I give?  
> Am I to risk my life  
> To win the chance to live?  
> ~"Twisted Every Way" Phantom of the Opera

Belle didn't remember waking Red at the end of her watch. The first thing she knew was waking to cold and to the sound of the dying fire, buried in blankets inside her shelter. The camp was deserted. In a covered pot next to the fire were the remains of breakfast. With the dawn, the direction of the wind had changed. The camp was no longer sheltered from it. Belle hurried to eat and stamp out the fire before it blew into the dry trees. She found a place to sit in the rocks so the wind couldn't get to her, but so that she still had a decent view of camp and the surrounding woods.

Her memory of the night before was surprisingly clear, but the clarity only confused her more. Rum's story was strange. Too bizarre to possibly be true, it nonetheless seemed to resonate within her. As if there was a sense that he hadn't made the whole thing up. As if she'd heard it before. Where? Perhaps from one of the minstrels in the Castle courts? Not that it was likely for them to know the secrets of the Dark Ones. And the story seemed more far off than that. It was buried deep within her, like a fairy tale she'd read as a child. Perhaps that was it. A book from her father's castle, one that had been lost when the ogres attacked. And Rum was the Sorcerer. He could have read it before.

But why would he claim that it was true?

It was tragic really. For Rum to have loved and then been punished for it by those he called his friends. Some part of her knew it wasn't a complete lie. There had been no lie in his voice. She trusted him. Yes, he was the Dark One. Yes, he was feared by all the realms. But he had given her his friendship. They'd spent hours together. She'd kissed him and he'd kissed her back.

She leaned back against the rock, resting her head on it. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but her neck and shoulders appreciated the release from the weight of her head. Being out in the wild could be lonely. Either the days were spent alone in the woods or alone at camp. Yet at the same time, there came a camaraderie like none other in the evenings. The stiffness of court life was gone and they were free to talk and act as they wished.

Rumpelstiltskin walked up the rocks toward her. His cloak was gone, but he didn't seem to be cold. The leather he wore fit him tightly, giving him even more of a lizard-like appearance than usual. He leaned against the rock in front of her, grinning. He seemed suddenly tall—had she ever talked to him sitting down?

"Good morning, dearie."

She nodded in response. Despite her behavior the night before, she was still upset with him. He'd kissed her and run away without explanation. Some part of her trusted him instinctively and told her there must be a good reason, but it still hurt.

"So cold in the warmth of morning light?" His voice was soft, yet with a hint of lilting sing-song.

"You left," she said. There was no point in pleasantries. He wasn't one to take interest in them anyway.

"What?" His brow creased and Belle bit back a smile. She'd managed to throw him off. That was unusual, an accomplishment.

"I kissed you and asked you not to leave." Her voice was more bitter, closer to breaking, with every word. All the pain and shock of those minutes came rushing back. She'd stared at the spot where he'd vanished, hoping he'd reappear until she'd been gone far too long. Every emotion she'd held back filled her voice. "You left anyway."

He stared at her, mouth open, wordless. She turned her head against the rock, the grit of it digging into her cheek. A single tear froze on the rock before it hit the ground beside her.

"I came back," he said. His voice was broken too, all pretense gone. "Last night. I came back."

"A week later," she whispered. Gently, he grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet. Belle didn't resist, curiosity getting the better of her. His hands settled around hers, clasping them to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I… I shouldn't have." He kissed her hands gently.

Belle's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't expected him to apologize. She'd been ready for excuses or a change in topic. "I forgive you," she blurted before she could realize what she was saying.

He seemed equally as shocked to be forgiven, and even more so when she pulled her hands from his to touch his face. Tentatively, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was sweet and barely lasted long enough for him to kiss her back. She pulled away slowly, her fingers caressing the odd texture of his skin. Her face split into a smile that she felt would break her in two.

"Are you going to leave again?" she asked.

"I can't stay all the time." He leaned his face into her hand. "But I won't go forever."

Her lips found his again, the taste of him filling her with sweet warmth in contrast to the cold mountain air around her. He wrapped his arms around her, both delicate and firm. She clung to him, continuing the kiss until they were both out of breath. She rested her head on his chest, her hands on his shoulders. He simply held her, his face buried in her hair.

"Thank you for the story last night," she said, moving her head to avoid a bit of scratchy leather. "But I wish it had been true."

He didn't say anything in response, only tightened his hold on her, intent on keeping her in his embrace.

 

* * *

 

Belle closed her laptop. That was enough writing for the morning. She brought her coffee to the sofa and curled up in the corner with it, sipping at it slowly so as not to burn her tongue. It was unusual for her to sit without writing now that she had her words back. She'd been taking Rumpelstiltskin's advice and letting the story tell itself. Now look where that had gotten her.

The coffee filled her with a quiet, buzzing strength. She curled her legs up tighter against her body. She would have to leave for work soon. She wasn't dressed. Or finished with her coffee. Her story sat in her computer on the desk only a few feet away. It seemed to be calling for her, trapped within the screen. She couldn't go to it though. Something had happened to it. She no longer recognized the story she was telling as her own.

As if on cue, Rum appeared, sitting perfectly in the swivel chair and blocking her view of her laptop.

"Care to explain?" Belle asked. Much like her character, she had no patience for playing games with the imp.

"Explain what exactly? You'll have to be more specific than that dearie."

"You—that _story_ ," Belle spluttered. She unfolded herself so she was sitting up straight. "I said I'd listen to what the story wanted, not your ludicrous inventions!"

"You mean the fairy tale?" He laughed. "Whoever said it's true?"

"You—I—augh!" Belle let her head fall back against the sofa. "That's not the point! _You_ _'re_ up to something. And I'll not have you spoiling my story for your own amusement."

Rumpelstiltskin didn't respond, content to merely smirk at her, swiveling back and forth slightly in his chair. Completely unhelpful.

The alarm on her phone went off. She had to leave for work.

"Just, just stop interfering," she told Rum sternly, standing up. "This story is enough work without your insane contributions."

She stalked to her bedroom, Rum's voice carrying through as she shut the door.

"It's your story, not mine, dearie."

 

* * *

 

They broke camp and marched on the next day. Heading west along the ridge, the terrain changed little. The weather remained constant too: cold wind and scatterings of snow. At least it didn't get worse. They were above tree line and had a clear view down both sides of the mountains. There was no sign of any ogres. While it meant they avoided any skirmishes, their absence was suspicious. Just last year these peaks had been swarming with them. Where had they gone? It was difficult to mark their position for King George if they were nonexistent.

Each night they made a small camp and broke it the next morning to continue. Their stay at the rocks had replenished their supplies enough that they shouldn't have to stop again until they retreated back below tree line on their way home.

Belle walked slowly, lost in thought. Rumpelstiltskin confused her. Rather, her reactions to Rumpelstiltskin did. She ought to be angry. She ought to be hurt and unsure. She ought not have forgiven him so quickly.

From the beginning, she had trusted him. When he first appeared to her, she should have driven him away. Instead he became her friend. She trusted the _Dark One_ with her life and the lives of her friends. She snuck out to see him and shared kisses with him. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

The rock beneath Belle's foot shifted as she put her weight on it. She fell forward, only to be caught by Graeme's arm around her waist. "Careful there," he said. "Not all of these rocks are as stable to walk on as they look."

"Thanks, I noticed," Belle said dryly. She bumped into him affectionately, smiling, before stepping aside to a polite distance. Graeme was right. She should pay more attention to where she stepped. She couldn't explain to him that the Sorcerer had taken over her thoughts. Feeling self-conscious, Belle glanced back over her shoulder. Regina's eyes were on them, fixed on the arm with which Graeme had caught her.

Over the next few days, Regina's gaze followed Belle everywhere. Her eyes were on her every time Belle glanced in her direction. It first it was a bit strange, but soon it began to unnerve her. The only respite she had from Regina's watchfulness was her excursions to meet Rum, but even then Regina's expression only darkened with her absence.

In the end, Belle was surprised how long it took Regina to confront her. The sorceress wasn't the sort to draw things out unnecessarily. But instead, she waited to be alone with Belle one evening while the others went about their business.

"You've been… absent lately," Regina said dryly, poking at her magically-sustained fire with a stick.

Belle shrugged. "I want to enjoy being in the wild while I can."

"Of course," Regina said. "You won't stay with the company once I've taken over?"

"You don't have the job yet," Belle said quickly. There wasn't much use in trying to conceal her apathy towards the subject. At first it had been so important. Not letting Regina take over. Protecting the company. Such and such. But now it didn't matter. Belle would return to the Castle and live alone with her books. It wasn't that she'd given up really, she just knew that was the way it would turn out.

Regina laughed coldly. "Not yet, no."

Graeme gave Belle a little smile as he came up to add wood to the fire. Belle returned his smile. They seemed to be on better terms as of late. Friends. More and more, she was becoming alright with that. Their old smiles and teasing were slowly returning, but without the secret warmth of flirting behind them. She still cared for him deeply—and he for her—but they no longer mourned each other. Belle watched him go, smiling at the way his head turned slightly as he snuck a glance at Red. Perhaps he would have his chance at happiness after all.

"Finding something interesting, are we?" Regina asked, pulling Belle's gaze from Graham.

"Not particularly," Belle said as carelessly as she could. She knew that look in Regina's eyes. There was danger in every answer she could give.

"Doesn't look that way." Regina's voice was casual, too casual. Belle took a deep breath to keep her face from tensing. She wasn't at fault. She had nothing to hide—except the part where she was in love with the Sorcerer, but that was beside the point.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Regina scoffed. "Oh, you don't need to pretend with me, dear," she said, leaning in and giving Belle a wide grin. "I know you still desire him for yourself."

"I do nothing of the sort," Belle replied curtly, sitting up straighter and looking at the fire—decidedly at neither Regina nor Graeme.

Regina laughed.

"If you're going to be ridiculous, please go do it elsewhere," Belle said.

"Oh my dear," Regina said, her voice dripping with smug laughter, "I haven't said anything that isn't plain to anyone with eyes. You're still—"

A scream pierced the air, but was cut off abruptly after only a moment. Belle and Regina jumped to their feet, running towards it along with the rest of the company.

They found Red not far from the camp. Her hands were clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide. Before her was the figure of a dog. Its thick, golden fur was matted and clumped with dirt and dried blood. The blood was everywhere. Still, it flowed from wounds on the dog's leg and side, staining the snow a red-black color. The creature whined pitifully, unable to make more than a whisper of sound.

Snow crossed to Red, wrapping her arms around the taller girl. Belle joined her. Red, despite her wolf, never handled blood well. In fights, she only managed by letting the wolf take her thoughts to some extent. If someone—especially one of her comrades—was hurt badly enough, she would freeze up without the wolf. Red shook beneath their arms with dry sobs. Belle and Snow only held her tighter to them.

Graeme and Regina knelt in the snow beside it. Regina began muttering under her breath, her hands hovering over the dog's body to direct the spells. Graeme's inspection was more concrete. His expression darkened by the second. The wounds were dark and oozing in the fur and snow. The dog let out another whine, choking on the sound halfway through.

"Ogres," he said, sitting back into a crouch. "That's the only thing that could have done this."

"Are you sure?" Charming asked, his voice sharp.

"These wounds," Graeme said, gesturing to them, "they're bites. Looks like the ogres abandoned this meal in favor of something less furry."

Red gasped and Snow patted her hair. Belle had to look away from the dog. It was too painful.

"What are we going to do?" Red asked through her heaving breaths. "We can't just leave it."

"There's nothing we can do," Regina said. "It's dying."

"Heal it." Red broke from Belle and Snow's embrace. She kneeled beside Regina, her gaze stricken, but steady. "Please."

"I can't," Regina said. Red's mouth opened, either to speak or cry, but Graeme spoke first:

"She's right," he said. "The leg, it's infected. And there's too much flesh missing from the side. Not even magic can save it."

Regina nodded, her features softer than usual. All sign of the woman who had threatened Belle minutes ago was gone.

"Then… then… what—" Red gasped.

"It's best to put it out of its misery," Graeme said, looking at the dog with pity in his eyes. "Death from infection and exposure will be long and painful. It's the least we can do."

Red stood slowly, backing away. Snow took her hand and began to head back to camp. Charming nodded once at Graeme and Regina. "Do what you must."

Belle should have followed him. But she couldn't move. All she could think was that the ogres were near. Somewhere in the forest with them. Irrationally, a fear came over her for Rumpelstiltskin. It was silly, of course he could defend himself against ogres. But what if they caught him unaware? What if there were too many and he was hurt? What if not even his magic could save him?

Graeme stood and backed away, giving Regina space to work. Belle reached for his arm. He let her hold onto him. They stood together silent and rigid. Regina chanted softly, soothingly, moving her hands over the dog. There was a small burst of red smoke. It encased the dog and sunk into it. With a final pitiful sound, the dog's eyes closed and its chest ceased to move.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Gold looked up at the sound of the bell that hung at the Pawn Shop's door. His face twisted into a sneer and his twirled his pen in his fingers. It was unusual for him to have visitors, and rarer still to have them come in the middle of the afternoon.

"Mayor Mills, what a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," Cora said smoothly, her voice as oily as her soul. Gold wished she'd sent Regina this time—she could be amusing to toy with. Cora knew him too well to allow herself to amuse him. He looked her up and down, shamelessly appreciating the looks she managed to maintain despite this land's fashion. Cora was the sort of woman who was best suited to a silk gown, not a pantsuit.

"And have you come," he said carefully, setting his pen down on the open ledger, "for business—"

"—or pleasure?" she finished. Her voice was no lower than usual for her, but its bite was replaced with sultry flirtation. "I was expecting a bit of both."

"Pity." Gold kept his tone light. "I'd rather not mix the two." Even as he said so, he walked around the counter, his shoes clicking on the wood floor in rhythm with his cane. With a flick of Cora's wrist, the blinds over the from windows snapped shut and the sign on the door flipped to 'closed'. She could never resist the urge to show off, especially to him.

"Oh darling, as if we could ever separate them."

She kissed his lips, refined as she always was at first. Gold closed his eyes and returned the kiss as well as he could. When Cora pulled away she smiled at him, her eyes glinting with danger. "It's been too long, Master."


	18. A Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you,  
> I walked with you once upon a dream  
> I know you,  
> That gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam  
> And I know it's true,  
> That visions are seldom all they seem  
> But if I know you, I know what you'll do  
> You'll love me at once, the way you did  
> Once upon a dream  
> ~"Once Upon A Dream", Sleeping Beauty

Mr. Gold drew back the blinds on the shop windows first thing the next morning. Privacy was appreciated when Cora decided to visit, but he hated not being able to see out. The sunlight streamed back into the musty shop. It caught on the dust in the air and illuminated the swirling patterns. Gold watched it a moment, entranced, before he shook himself back to reality and limped back behind the counter.

The records book was still where he'd left it, his pen dropped carelessly across the pages. A blot of ink had dripped from it overnight. He cursed Cora. She always came at the least opportune moment. Perhaps an ink blot would be enough reason for her not to surprise him again? He shook his head. What nonsense was he thinking? Idle fantasies would get him nowhere. Things were the way they were. He couldn't change the price of magic.

Cora's words from the night before played over and over in his mind: _Don_ _'t think I spend all my time in Storybrooke. I'd think you'd be more mindful of the rules. He might be blind, but I'm not._

Gold took off his jacket and laid it out on the counter. He'd need a new pen if this one was blotting. He gathered his cane and limped to the backroom to fetch one. His leg hurt him especially this morning. It wasn't a dull or pleasant pain at all. It was sharp and every wave of it was laced with regret and despair.

When he returned to the front of the shop, part of the sunlight was blocked. In its place was the figure of Belle outside his window. She peered through the open blinds, eyes alight and cheerful. He stopped in the doorway to the back of the shop, unprepared to see her, though her coming was no surprise. She met his eyes and all he could think was what he wished to tell her: _It_ _'s not my fault, sweetheart. It's not my fault._

 

* * *

 

Monday. Story time with the fourth grade. Story time with a large number of nine year olds who couldn't go outside because it was too cold so they had all this pent up energy and seemed to think the library was a good place to let it out.

As Mary Margaret followed the children out the door, Belle gave her a weary grin and patted her arm. "Thanks," Mary Margaret mouthed. The door shut with a series of clicks, pushing one final blast of cold air into the library. Belle shivered and returned to her desk to wrap her coat around her shoulders.

Nine year olds. Thirty of them.

Belle let her head rest against the desk. The computer screen was only barely visible from this angle, but she could see the clock. 2:36. Ruby should be on break. Fishing her phone from her pocket, she dialed Ruby's number. Ruby picked up on the first ring.

"Belle! Awesome, are you on break?"

"Mary Margaret just left with her fourth graders. So yeah, I'm free until someone else shows up." She sat up, leaning back into her swivel chair. Her foot pushed her back and forth, back and forth.

"Ugh, how was that?"

"Exhausting." Belle waited for Ruby to finish giggling. "You wanted to tell me something?"

"Actually, yes. Don't too excited though. It's boring."

"Alright, what is it?" Belle giggled. Taking to Ruby was good. She was much better at conversation than fourth graders.

"Granny wanted me to tell you that she's willing to help with food and drink for your library party—"

"It's not a library party," Belle said, just as she had every time it came up. "It's a celebration for the library's fifth anniversary. And it wouldn't be happening if it weren't for Mayor Mills' insistence."

"You know it's probably just Regina's idea of making extra work for you."

"She doesn't have any reason for that," Belle said. "We're adults now, not schoolgirls. We're not that petty."

" _You_ _'re_ not. But she is. She hates you. Isn't that reason enough?"

Belle began to respond, but let her words fall silent as there was a great banging against the front door. "Ruby," she said, "I'll talk to you later."

"Tell whoever it is hello for me!"

Belle smiled as she hung up the phone. The banging continued. Belle hurried to the door and opened it carefully so as not to hurt the person on the other side. The freezing wind rushed into the library once more. It engulfed Belle, slipping in to every opening in her clothes.

"Thanks, love." Killian Jones hurried into the library's warmth. In one hand he carried his backpack and in the other his guitar case. They swung hard against his legs in a disjointed rhythm.

"Hey," Belle said. She pulled the door shut behind her rather than let it close on its own. "What's up? It's been a while."

She followed him past the desk to his usual table. He dumped his backpack and guitar case on top of it and turned to lean against it.

"Did you miss me?" He grinned. Belle rolled her eyes. "I've been swamped," he said.

"Oh, right," Belle said. She'd forgotten. With the holidays he'd have taken every gig he could get. The shipyard wasn't as busy in the colder months, so he needed the money. "So did you make enough for the rest of the winter?"

"I hope so." He pulled his laptop out of his bag and started it up. "Were your holidays good?"

"Good enough. Dad and I still aren't speaking, so it was lonely. But you know me—I'm never one for a whole lot of fuss over traditions."

"Your dad didn't even call though?"

"Actually he did." Belle laughed to herself. "He left a message on my machine, asking if I'd like to come to dinner with him and Geoffrey and Geoffrey's parents."

Killian laughed, but his attention was drawn away from Belle to his computer, which he pulled into his lap. His lips moved as he muttered to himself. A few clicks and his face lit up. With a rather pompous air, he set the laptop down on the table. He crossed to Belle and picked her up, spinning her around. Belle gasped and clutched at his shoulders.

"Killian!" After one more revolution, he set her down on the ground. His eyes were bright and he wore the biggest grin she'd seen from him in a long time. "What is it?" she asked.

"I've got an audition! The e-mail just came—they reviewed my application and want to hear me play!"

Belle gasped and threw her arms around him. "That's wonderful! When is it? Where?"

"It's in Boston in two weeks." He broke from her arms and jumped up to sit on the table again. For once, Belle let him. It wasn't often that one got a chance to change one's life. "It's not much, just playing back-up guitar for a local place. But it's a start."

"It's a ticket out of here," Belle said. Killian nodded. His eyes were sparkling with hints of tears he was trying to conceal. He wiped his hand over his face, clearing the wetness from his eyes without as much subtlety as he thought he had.

"I can't believe it. I'm leaving Storybrooke."

"It's wonderful," Belle said. She bit her lip. Of course she was overjoyed for him, but she'd miss him. A lot. He was an idiot, but he was a good friend. Her idiot. "What will you play for the audition?"

Killian reached back and opened his guitar case, swinging the instrument out and into his lap. With a wink at her, his fingers began to pick lightly on the strings. His voice joined a moment later, low and smooth, wavering just a bit with the overflow of emotion. He was finally free of this place.

_We could climb up a rainbow,_

_Catch the jewels of the sky,_

_Run through the clouds,_

_And breathe in the night._

_And I know the galaxies so far and wide,_

_But I still can_ _'t stop dreaming_

' _Bout holding your_

_Hand as we fly._

 

* * *

 

Graeme and Belle stood by while Regina magically dug a grave for the dog. Belle let Graeme's hand rest on her back. She could barely feel it through her cloak. The sun was sinking fast below the ridge of mountains, cloaking them in shadows and streaks of amber light.

Regina used her magic to lower the dog into the grave and fill it in again. The dirt settled in the mound. There were too many rocks for it to settle nicely. A tear slipped down Belle's cheek. The ogres had been here. They were near. Who knew where or how long ago precisely? Where was Rum? Had he been too close? It was irrational to worry about an all-powerful sorcerer. Still it clenched in Belle's chest, choking her. He could be caught unaware. He could be too weary to fight. He could… he could…

Regina sniffed. "Let's go back to camp," she said quietly.

"Yes, let's." Graeme gently pulled Belle along with him, but she shook off his hand.

"Can… can you give me a moment?"

Regina narrowed her eyes, but relaxed when Belle made no move to have Graeme stay too. The two of them hurried back to camp and warmth. Belle crossed her arms and hugged herself tight. Rumpelstiltskin. She had to find him.

Barely aware of her own actions, she stumbled farther into the forest. Her feet fell clumsily on the rocks, her ankles twisting to keep her upright. She didn't dare call out for him, no matter how the words pushed to be released. He would come. He had to. She tripped over a branch and caught herself on a tree. She leaned against it, breathing hard. Her tears from before were sticky on her skin. It was too late to rub them off.

Without movement, the cold seeped in. It snuck between the seams and gaps in her cloak and down the back of her neck. It slowly numbed her feet within her wet boots. With every breath it filled her lungs, chilling her inside as well as out. Her breaths came quickly as if she were running rather than leaning against a tree. One breath came in an unsteady shudder.

"Belle? Belle?" Rumpelstiltskin's voice came through the darkening shadows.

"I'm here," she said, her voice breathy through her sigh of relief. He was here. He was alright. As soon as he was visible Belle threw herself into his arms, clinging to him and trying to stop her body shaking.

"And, ah, what has brought this on?" Rum asked delicately.

Belle took a deep breath and pulled back. She kept her hands on his shoulders. "I… We found evidence of ogres. I thought… It's silly."

"Not if you were worried." His hand brushed her cheek. "I'm alright. No signs of ogres other than what you saw."

Belle nodded, swallowing tears of relief. She threw herself at Rum once again, clinging to him, face buried in the soft fur of his cloak.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice suddenly tense. "Are you hurt?"

"Now who's worried?" she asked. She couldn't help but smile. He cared. She squeezed him tighter, enjoying the way his arms settled around her waist. "I'm fine."

"What happened? Tell me exactly."

"There… there was a dog. It was hurt, as if something had tried to take a bite of its side and leg," Belle said, her voice shaking. "It was too hurt. Regina… Regina put it out of its misery." Rum's arms tightened around her and she let herself feel buried in his warmth and the safety of his arms. He was the Dark One, the Sorcerer. Nothing could harm her with him here.

"And your company? They're all safe?"

"Yes. Red and Graeme are a bit shaken up, but they'll be alright."

He stiffened a bit a Graeme's name. Not enough that she would have noticed from a distance, but with her body pressed against his, he couldn't hide the reaction from her.

"I'm not in love with him," she said abruptly.

"What?"

"I'm not in love with Graeme," Belle repeated. "Not like I was." Their embrace had been one of mutual support and friendship. There was no longer passion there. Somehow, the realization that Graeme was a dear friend and brother now was comforting, freeing. Her conflicting feelings over his upcoming marriage were gone. She was free of him.

Smiling at the realization, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rum's lips. They were cold. She was sure hers couldn't be much better, standing out in the cold like this. Rum jerked her closer to him—there had been space left between them?—and she gasped. Kissing him was wonderful. Not in the same way that kissing Graeme had been, but no less because of that. Rum kissed her as if she were necessary from moment to moment. As if they had been parted for years. As if she would vanish and this kiss would be their last.

He let her go, slowly pulling his lips from hers and resting his forehead on hers. Both their breaths came in heavy pants. Belle smiled.

"I can't believe it," she whispered.

"What can't you believe?"

"This. Us. That I'm really here, with you." They were so close that there was no space for the cold to slip between them. Belle was completely warm for the first time in weeks.

"Neither can I," Rum said, almost too quiet for Belle to hear. She tilted her head up slightly so her lips brushed against his again.

"I should get back." She's been gone long enough. Much more and Regina would send out a search party. Which could only end badly.

Rum nodded and took her hand in his, making sure all exposed skin was covered by one of their cloaks. They took their time heading back, not wanting to leave each other so soon. She was safe with him. The trees no longer seemed to catch at her and rip at her cloak. There were no longer figures of ogres and beasts in the shadows. And if there were, Rum could protect her. It was nice, to be protected. So often, Belle was left to protect herself. Graeme was the only one who had cared for her like this before. Of course, she still had his protection, but not here, not now.

They stopped in the trees surrounding the company's camp. The glow of their fire seemed to make a protective sphere around their shelters. Within, her friends sat and stood, going about their business as usual. Red sat by the fire, Graeme beside her. His arm was around her shoulders, stilling her shivering. Belle had always admired Red's compassion for living creatures. Too often Belle found herself too caught up in her books and thoughts to notice. Graeme leaned over and whispered in Red's ear.

Belle turned to face Rumpelstiltskin. No, he wasn't like Graeme—all rugged grins and loping gait. He was theatrical and sarcastic and not quite human. Yet he was still wonderful to her.

"What is it?" Belle asked quietly. Rum's head snapped up, jerked from deep thought. His eyes were guarded again. Belle touched his cheek. "You're brooding."

"It's nothing," he said. "Just a few thoughts." He tried to put his dramatic lilt in at the end, but it wasn't convincing.

"You can tell me," Belle said, smiling a bit. "I'm curious now."

He frowned, but sighed. "The dog you found. That's all. It's odd."

"How—" Even as she began to ask for clarification, the answer came to her. There wasn't much food up in these mountains. The ogres would be starving. So why would they simply leave a meal half-eaten?

 

* * *

 

Belle balanced her books in one arm to open the door to Granny's diner. Her sunglasses fogged over with the sudden warmth, making it even more difficult to see. Trusting that nothing about the layout had changed since she'd last been to Granny's, Belle made her way to the counter and slid her books onto it.

"Been reading much lately?" Ruby asked dryly, eying the pile suspiciously. Belle took off her sunglasses. It was nearly as bright inside without them as it had been outside with. The sun reflected off the snow and ice, so no matter where one stood, it was too bright. At least the sidewalks were clear and dry.

"Worried?" Belle grinned. Ruby tended to fear sudden spikes in Belle's book consumption. They usually went hand in hand with exuberant ravings about the contents of said books. "No, they're being donated to the library. I was just picking them up."

Ruby nodded, gingerly spinning the stack so she could see the titles. " _Early Baroque Composers_? I can see why they're being donated. Not that anyone will touch them at the library either."

"Ruby," Belle scolded in her best librarian voice. "This is an important contribution to our collection."

"I'm sure," Ruby said, not bothering to mask her sarcasm. "What can I get for you today?"

"A coffee, please."

Belle waited patiently for her drink, but wished that the other customers would leave Ruby alone. She wanted to talk to her friend. Not about anything in particular, but still, these customers were bothersome. Finally Ruby set her coffee in front of Belle. But, as of course it must be, Graham walked in at that moment, capturing Ruby's full attention.

Belle sighed and sipped at her coffee. It was bitter. Ruby had forgotten to add sugar. Oh well. Belle wished Ruby every happiness, she really did. Ruby and Graham would be perfect together. At the moment though, she couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment towards him. She wanted to chat with her friend. Was that really too much to ask? She gulped down the bitter coffee quickly. At least the caffeine should do her some good.

Her cup empty, Belle took a pen from her purse and wrote on her napkin, _Missed talking to you. Have fun with Graham ;)_. She left the coffee cup and note on the counter and shrugged her coat on. Sunglasses followed that, and she gathered her books in her arms. With one more glance at Ruby—she was leaning rather far over the counter to make up-close-and-personal googly eyes at Graham—Belle left the diner. Hopefully a decent number of people would decide to visit the library today. She didn't want to be lonely all afternoon.

She took care navigating around the front gate and turning down the sidewalk towards the library. If she'd been thinking ahead, she'd have thought to bring her wagon along. There really were too many books to comfortably carry—

Belle ran into someone, gasping a bit as the books fell from her arms.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," she said, bending down to pick up the scattered books. They'd landed on the dry sidewalk for the most part. Belle hoped there wasn't any permanent damage. "Stupid, stupid klutz," she muttered under her breath.

She gathered each book and dusted it off as she replaced it in her arms. Not that dusting them off would really help, but it made her feel better. She reached for the last one—

Another set of hands had already picked it up and were offering it to her. A knot formed in Belle's chest. Hands, steady with long thin fingers and an ornate ring. Those were attached to the sleeves of a well-made suit, which, as Belle looked up she realized could only belong to one person in Storybrooke.

"Mr. Gold!" she exclaimed, taking the books from him and adding it to her stack. She hurried to stand, but wobbled and nearly fell over. She would have if Mr. Gold had not caught her arm to steady her.

"Miss French," he said. He was so calm, so unperturbed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Perhaps the books aren't, but I can check that over this afternoon—How are you?" She cursed her idiocy the moment the words were leaving her mouth. Here she was, meeting Mr. Gold for the first time face to face and all she could do was babble like a child!

"I'm doing fine," he responded. "Running into book-laden librarians aside."

"Right," Belle said, nodding. Curses upon her nerves. They made her into such a fool.

"And… yourself?" He seemed unfamiliar with pleasantries. Well, it was Belle's fault really. Greeting him like an old friend instead of a stranger. But he didn't seem like a stranger. All those looks through his shop windows had to count for something, right?

"Alright." Belle tried her best to smile. But not grin too wildly in case he thought she was creepy. But not insincerely or he'd think she was annoyed. But not to kind or he'd think she was too interested. But not too indifferent or he might never speak to her again. "I'm a bit busy," she said. Her smile felt forced and plastered on, no matter how happy she really was. "The five-year anniversary celebration is coming up, so preparing for that is time-consuming."

A peculiar expression passed over his face. Something like surprise… and was it despair? It was hard to tell.

"It's the mayor's fault of course," Belle said, needing to fill the silence with something. "She's the one who came up with the idea, but I'm the one who has to do all the work. So it goes, I guess?"

"Hmm, yes," Gold said, distractedly. After a moment he focused on her again. His face was neutral, his usual intimidating look. His eyes, though, seemed bright and smiling. As if he truly was happy to see her. "I'm afraid I have business to attend to, Miss French, and must take my leave."

"Please—it's Belle."

He nodded, a smile finally twitching at his lips. "Belle. Good afternoon."

"To you to."

He limped away, down the street in the opposite direction from where she was headed. He was different than she expected. Good different. She hadn't expected the accent—smooth and rich, adding delightful twists and turns to his speech. His cool manner wrapped around such passion. One couldn't see that sort of thing through glass and mini-blinds. Realizing suddenly that she was staring at him, Belle shook her head to clear it.

She was an idiot of the highest degree, she though as she walked down the street towards the library. An idiot. There it had been. The moment she'd dreamed of: speaking to Mr. Gold face to face. And what had she done? She'd blabbered. On and on about nothing at all and—curses, she was stupid. She was Belle French. Strong, independent Belle French with her job and her books. Not a little girl who couldn't handle talking to the boy she liked.

Yet at the same time, she'd spoken with him. He'd smiled at her and helped her with her fallen books. He was beautiful in the bright winter light and it was everything she had wanted. She'd _spoken_ to him. Finally. He knew her name.

Never mind. She didn't want lots of company at the library this afternoon. She wanted it completely empty so she could mentally replay those few moments over and over and over.


	19. An End of the Road

A small, squat television was set up on the counter in Granny's diner. Belle rolled her eyes and took another sip of her iced tea as the reporter began his third repetition of the weather forecast. Most of the diner's patrons glanced back at the set every few seconds. The atmosphere was too quiet for a Friday night, despite everyone's attempts to look like they weren't listening to the report.

" _It_ _'s looking like the biggest storm we've had in years. If you look here you can see the front moving—There are only the first signs, but we're predicting twenty-six inches, starting a week from tomorrow…_ "

Belle sighed and picked up her phone, turning it on to reveal the latest text message from twenty minutes before. Mary Margaret was held up at the school. She'd come as soon as she could. At the Mayor's suggestion, each grade would perform a skit of a book they'd read in class at the library's anniversary celebration. It was a good idea, in theory, but it took up hours and hours outside of school for rehearsal. Time Mary Margaret didn't really have.

Belle glanced up. Ruby caught her eye from where she worked at the register and shrugged. Belle offered a half smile. Surely Mary Margaret was doing the best she could to get there. Hopefully before Belle had too many iced teas. Tapping her pen against her lips, Belle closed her eyes, imaging the next words before setting her pen to paper to record them.

 

* * *

 

As the company finished with their supper, Charming rose and grinned.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached the end of our trail. Tomorrow, we camp below tree line."

"And," Red added, a true smile on her face, "there's been no sign of ogres for the past week."

Graeme let out a cheer. Hook took his small metal flask from his coat and passed it around. Charming narrowed his eyes, but said nothing to disrupt the victory of the moment. Belle took a sip when it came to her and tried not to choke when it burned her throat. She swallowed anyway, cursing Hook's taste for foul spirits. It was like drinking flaming pitch.

But it was over. Their last mission. They would head back to the Castle and their lives would change. What had been the beginning of the end was reaching its own ending. There were no ogres in these mountains. They were safe.

Except… Rumpelstiltskin. Their time was nearly over. How could he possibly return with her? King George would lock him in the dungeons at first sight. She'd be hanged for consorting with evil. Belle couldn't ask Rum to do that. They would pass these few days of the return journey together and then part ways. Over the past week they'd been closer. His underlying jealousy of Graeme dissipated and he'd been more open with her, freer with his thoughts. He'd been searching for the ogres that killed the dog, but found nothing. Perhaps it was a fluke. Perhaps they were long gone. He was always careful to keep the "perhaps", never willing to be too sure.

The flask returned to Hook, who took a long draught before capping it and returning it to his jacket. That done, he leaned over and pressed a sloppy kiss to Regina's cheek.

Belle's breath caught in her throat. There was a frozen moment as everyone waited to see what would happen. Delicately, Regina stood from the rock she was sitting on. She brushed off her pants, and then her hands. And with one fell swoop, lobbed a spell at Hook that hit him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. He wheezed, feet up in the air, breath knocked from him.

She gave all of them a smile. "We're heading home tomorrow, right?" Dusting off her hands one last time, she delicately stepped over Hook and vanished into her shelter.

 

* * *

 

"Belle? _Belle_."

The diner was quieter. The lighting was dimmer. Belle's pen fell from her fingers. She didn't register that there was someone sitting across from her until Mary Margaret stopped the pen from rolling off the table.

Then she completely registered that Mary Margaret was sitting across from her and had been trying to get her attention.

"Yes? What?"

Mary Margaret smiled. "You were long gone. Ruby will just be a sec, then"—her grin spread across her face—"you can tell us what's going on."

Belle nodded, trying to look as excited as she could. Nerves twisted her stomach. It wasn't that she could realistically consider keeping this from her friends, it was just… now that it came down to it… Saying it out loud was different. It was one thing to deny accusations of a crush or sit dreaming about a man when alone or sneak secret glances at him on her way home. It was another thing entirely to admit any of those things to her friends.

"How was rehearsal?" she asked, taking a sip of tea and glancing over at where Ruby was helping one last customer at the counter. There were only a handful of people left in the diner—there were more entertaining places to be this Friday night.

"A nightmare," Mary Margaret said. "It's like herding cats. They're all going every which way and I can't possibly—" She continued to describe the various trials of a children's play. Belle tried to focus, but it was hard to keep her mind tied down to anything. Her thoughts raced back and forth. Mr. Gold picking up her books. The color of his eyes and the sound of his voice. A thousand possible ways this coming conversation could go. The way she'd smoothed every page of the books she'd dropped, paying special attention to the one he'd touched.

"Nice of you to join us, Mary Margaret," Ruby teased as she sat down, pulling Belle from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry," Mary Margaret said. "It's the anniversary play—"

"I heard," Ruby said, laughing. With a glint in her eye, she turned to Belle. "I think you have something to tell us?"

Belle took a deep breath. "Yes, I do." Here it was. The moment. Ruby's grin twitched as she attempted to hold in giggles and words. Mary Margaret's eyes were bright, her frustration pushed aside for the moment.

"So," Belle said. Another deep breath. These were her friends. Why was this difficult? "I ran into Mr. Gold." She smiled but it felt forced as she braced herself for her friends' reactions.

"What?" Mary Margaret said.

"When. Where. How. What happened. Right now," Ruby demanded. Belle hadn't thought Ruby's grin could grow any wider, but it had. Bright red lips on white teeth. Belle sipped at her tea and sank back in her seat a little. That wasn't so bad.

As quickly—but with as much detail as she could—Belle summarized what happened. By the end Mary Margaret was beaming, her hands clasped on the table and Ruby was smirking and biting her lip.

"Well?" Belle asked. "Say something?"

"It's wonderful," Mary Margaret said. She reached across the table and took Belle's hand. "I'm so happy for you."

"So when are you going to ask him out?" Ruby asked.

" _What?_ " Belle could only be glad she hadn't just taken a sip or Ruby would've been wearing her iced tea. "No! I'm not going to ask him out."

"Why not? You've been in love with him—oh don't look like that. You have been!"

"I wouldn't call it _love_ , Ruby. I barely know him. We've only talked once."

Ruby and Mary Margaret exchanged a look. "Belle, sweetie," Ruby said. "You've been making eyes at him since as long as I can remember, whether you knew it or not. You're in love with him, right?"

Belle looked down at her glass of iced tea. It was a beautiful brown color. She stirred the straw around. The nearly melted ice cubes clinked against the glass. Was she in love with Mr. Gold? Could she be? She barely knew him. It was all looks, really. A few words now… but could that be love? No, it couldn't. Not in any rational state of mind. And yet, there was something different here. As if she knew him more intimately than anyone, as if she'd known him for years as a friend, a lover even. It was impossible. Ridiculous. Somehow though, ridiculous things tended to be a little less ridiculous when she had conversations with a fictional character almost daily.

"I… Maybe I am?" Belle said. Each word gained strength as she spoke. Words said aloud seemed more real. "I like him enough. It could be love."

Mary Margaret squeezed her hand.

"Then go ask him!" Ruby insisted.

"Ruby…" Belle groaned. This girl was impossible. "I can't… I can't just do that."

"Why not? You like him. You walk into his shop and ask him if he'd like to get dinner. It's simple." Ruby raised her eyebrows, looking much too amused at the situation. "You always said you were the brave one."

"It's not a matter of courage," Belle said. "It… it would break some unwritten rule—it wouldn't be the right way."

"You don't want to mess this up," Mary Margaret said, nodding.

"Yeah."

"Well, you can't just let this go," Ruby insisted. "You've talked. Going back to lovey window staring is not an option."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes you were."

"Fine, Belle said. "I'll make a point to talk to him. Happy?"

"When? You never see him in person."

It was true. Without walking into his shop, there was no way. Except… "At the library's anniversary. The whole town's going to be there. I'm sure he'll show up. I'll talk to him then."

"Promise?" Ruby asked.

Belle sighed. "I'll do my best."

 

* * *

 

Hook wasn't one to sit around and admire the sunrise. Not recently at least. Years ago, when he'd still been at sea, he would rise before the rest of his crew and relieve whichever man had been at the wheel all night. Then it would just be him and the waves and the colors the dawn turned the world around him. Those days were long gone now. The sea was far off and the trees blocked his view of the open sky.

Up above tree line, he could see the sunrise if he dragged himself out of bed and into the cold for it. Usually he didn't. The warmth of his bed was a much more attractive option. But on their last morning before they returned to the shelter of the trees, the cold seemed worth it.

The dawn was pale gold. Streaks of rose stained the nearly white sky around the sun. The air was cold, but each ray of gold seemed warm as it passed over his face. He missed the open sky. Who knew if he would ever see it again? The terms of his pardon were that he serve under the prince as a scout. Well, that was no longer possible. He'd most likely be left to rot in some brig for the remainder of his days.

Everyone else got up around him, starting about their tasks for the morning. Breakfast was made, served, and eaten quietly. Despite Hook's own melancholy mood, it seemed his companions were simply tired. He was as well—the rocky ground was no good to sleep on.

"We'll break camp and leave in an hour," Charming announced, getting up from breakfast. "I'm going to take a look at the path ahead."

Snow watched him go, a small frown on her face.

"You heard him," Regina said. "Let's get moving. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can sleep in a real bed again."

"And have a proper meal," Red added. Hook rose along with the rest and began to disassemble his shelter.

"What about you, Princess?" he asked Snow. "What are you most looking forward to about going home?"

"I don't know," she said, pausing to think, her bow and quiver in hand. "A bath," she said finally. "A hot bath with proper soap and towels and clean clothes."

"I'll second that," Red said, giving up on folding her blanket and instead trying to stuff it into her pack. As the pack was not designed to hold a scrunched up blanket, the attempt to stuff it in only got her frustration. "And I'd like to have a bed I don't have to fold up every morning."

"Says the commoner among us," Graeme teased lightly. He took the blanket from her and folded in several quick, precise motions. "There. That will fit better."

"Thanks," Red mumbled. Hook exchanged a smirk with Snow. Red's glare wasn't quite believable. Her fondness for the Huntsman was growing, it seemed.

"So what about you?" Red asked, blanket stowed away. "Does the Huntsman look forward to going home?"

"Only to escape the cold for a while." Graeme gave her a small smile. "Even I don't like the snow."

Red returned the smile shyly. Neither seemed to be able to see the rest of the company staring at them. Hook knew they wouldn't yet admit it even in their own minds, but they were falling for each other. And really, he was happy for them. Someone ought to get a happy ending out of this mess.

"What are you looking forward to, pirate?" Regina asked, speaking a little more loudly than strictly necessary to break the moment between Red and Graeme. Regina was never one for staring into someone's eyes and sighing longingly, was she?

"Frankly, I'm not," Hook said. He kneeled to tie his pack together properly. "I'll likely be shut in a brig now that my usefulness has expired."

"At least it will be warm down there," Graeme offered.

"Aye, that it will," Hook said, trying to hide his distaste as his companions laughed. Relative warmth didn't improve the prospect of loss of freedom and access to open air.

"What about you, Belle?" Snow asked, looking around. "Belle?"

"She was just here…" Red trailed off, her eyes turning yellow for a moment as she took a deep breath through the nose. "She left that way, toward the stream we found yesterday."

"Probably just went to fill waterskins or something," Hook said. "Relax. She's fine."

"She's been gone an awful lot lately," Red said, still staring in the direction Belle had gone.

"She's been through a rough time lately," Hook reminded them. He didn't make a habit of being the caring one, but he liked to look out for Belle. She was the kindest of them all. If anyone deserved a happy ending, she did. "Anyways, _Princess_ ," he drawled, turning to Snow. "It's gonna be awful lonely in that brig. Think you'll come visit me?"

 

* * *

 

Rum appeared just as Belle was taking the returns from the drop box, startling her. The books in her arms nearly went tumbling to the floor, and she nearly did as well as she tried to balance them. Rum lurched forward, catching her with one arm around her waist and the other under her arms to support the books.

"Careful there, dearie," he said, releasing her and stepping back once he was sure she wouldn't fall. Belle dumped the books she was holding in his arms and picked up more from the drop-box before he could hand them back to her.

"I haven't seen you much lately," she said, heading back to the front desk.

"You're busy every time I show up," Rum said. He set the books down on the desk and then jumped up to sit on it. The jump was a little farther than should have been physically possible, but then again, he shouldn't be physically possible either.

"Just because I'm busy doesn't mean I don't appreciate the company." Belle scanned the first book automatically. The action was routine enough she barely had to think about it. "Where have you been anyway?"

"Busy." He grinned at her. Belle rolled her eyes. Infuriating.

"Well, if you're not—" She shut her mouth as the library's door opened.

It was Graham. The door snapped shut behind him, flurries of snow following in between. He brushed more of them out of his hair and shrugged off his jacket. "Hey there, Belle," he said.

"Graham." Belle let an easy smile form on her face. Her annoyance with Rum dissipated with it just as he vanished in purple smoke out of the corner of her eye. "What can I help you with?"

"Nothing," he said, coming to lean on the desk. His chest was heaving as if he'd run here. "I'm… avoiding Regina. I'll be on my way in a minute or two."

"What did she do this time?" Belle asked, laughing a little. She continued to scan books, glad to have pleasant company for the task.

"The usual," Graham said, working to get his breathing under control. "She's even more clingy than normal."

"Why? You haven't encouraged her, have you?"

"It's…" Graham paused, looking down at the floor. His eyes rose slowly to meet Belle's.

"Yes?"

"I—I mentioned that I'm interested in someone else," Graham said slowly. Belle grinned.

"Who?"

"Your friend, Ruby."

Belle clapped her hands together over her mouth to stifle her squeal. "You're going to ask her out?"

"I want to," Graham admitted. "Anyway, I didn't tell Regina who, so she's convinced I'm making it up. Honestly, if I haven't made it clear that I'm not interested by now, I doubt she'll ever get it."

"Can't you just ignore her?"

"If only." Graham shook his head. "She takes apathy as encouragement. If I ignore her she just gets… more friendly."

"I'm sorry," Belle said, doing her best to conceal her giggles. "So you were running from her just now?"

"Not exactly," he said, but sighed at the look Belle gave him. "Fine. I saw her coming—but to be fair I wasn't _just_ running from her by coming in here."

Belle nodded, unable to keep a straight face.

"Really. I wanted to make sure you'd heard about the storm coming."

Rolling her eyes and scanning another book, Belle nodded. "Of course I have. The whole town's talking about it. But it's still a six-day prediction. There's no way to know for sure yet."

"Of course not," Graham said. "But it doesn't hurt to be prepared. We're likely to get something."

"You're right," Belle conceded. "I just don't like all the hysteria."

"Neither do I."

"Has there been any word about Saturday?" she asked. If the storm decided to come a day earlier and wrecked all the work she'd put into the Mayor's little celebration, she might shoot something.

"It looks like it will be fine," Graham said. "That could change, but for the moment it looks clear. The calm before the storm and all that."

Belle nodded. The calm before the storm indeed.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, the mountain passes were far behind them. Charming was much more comfortable beneath the shelter of the trees. They were less visible. It felt safer. As much as he would miss going on missions, he was glad to be going home. There was something downright strange about this one. There were reports—eyewitnesses accounts—of ogres in the mountain passes. They'd seen nothing. Then there was the mutilated dog and the fact the Belle kept disappearing at every opportunity. That didn't even get into the underlying tensions between his company. They were never like this. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what _this_ was, but it was different and he didn't like it one bit.

Thankfully it would all soon be over.

Each day, they halted their march to make camp just as the sun touched the western horizon. Each day, that time came a little bit sooner. Their return route might be shorter, but it would take the same amount of time with less and less daylight.

"Charming?" Snow nudged his side. He'd been staring into the fire, lost to the rest of the world.

"Yes?"

"There's a little bit of light left. I'm going to get some water."

He turned his head so he could see her. The firelight on one side and the evening sun on the other lit up her face and glinted in her hair. "Very well," he said. He gave her a soft kiss. "Take someone with you. And be careful."

She nodded and kissed him again. "I will. But there's no danger."

"Of course not," he said. Letting his feelings take him over was the real danger. "I love you."

"And I you." She grinned as she got up. "Red!" she called. "I'm going to get some water. Walk with me?"

Charming watched them go, sighing. It was no use worrying. Snow was more than capable of defending herself, as was Red. They would be alright. He fetched his sword and took it from its sheath. There was little chance of damage to the blade—he hadn't used it at all on this journey—but checking it over made him feel better. It wasn't more than a feeling, but Charming couldn't shake it.

By habit, he looked around, counting everyone. Snow and Red were getting water. Hook was in the entrance of his shelter, fiddling with a knife, his flask of rum not quite hidden from Charming's view. Graeme had his quiver out and was in the process of making more arrows. Regina sat beside him, watching. Charming frowned. Graeme and Regina didn't typically get along—but where was Belle? He looked around the camp once more, but there was no sign of her.

Sheathing his sword, Charming got up to check her shelter, but paused, his attention caught by Regina's slow drawl.

"You can't fool me, Huntsman. You can't truly be looking forward to returning to the Castle, can you?" She was seated next to him on a fallen log, much too close for casual conversation.

"I don't know what you mean," Graeme said. His eyes were fixed on the unfinished arrow in his hands, studiously ignoring how close she was.

Regina smirked, leaning closer to Graeme. "I mean your wedding. It's bound to be soon after our return."

"No, it won't," Graeme said, his gaze not shifting. His hands worked methodically. He sounded as if he was only paying half attention to Regina's words. "There will be the betrothal ceremony first. The wedding won't be for months."

"So you have a few more months of freedom," Regina said. "Then you're tied hand and heart forever." She spoke slowly, each word accompanied with the step of her fingers trailing along his upper arm.

"Yes, I am." He paid her touch no attention. His hands didn't waver as he continued to refine the shaft of his arrow.

From across the camp, Charming glanced at Hook, whose head was raised, listening in as well. Their eyes met in a worried glance. Hook made to get up, but Charming shook his head. Regina hadn't noticed them listening. Graeme was capable of handling the sorceress himself. Interfering could only make things turn south faster.

"Don't—no. You can't actually want that, can you?" She laughed, high and cold. "I'm surprised you're not fighting it. You always prized your freedom, didn't you?" She inched even closer to Graeme, a feat Charming was surprised was possible. Her lips inches from his stony face as she spoke. "I could help you. Get you out of this deal. Give you back your _freedom_."

On the last word, her lips touched Graeme's cheek. He flinched away, barely keeping his eyes from glancing at her, from giving in.

"You want it," Regina whispered, her hushed voice carrying through the quiet of the clearing. "You'd do anything to get away and back to your _true love_."

Just as she spoke, Red and Snow returned to the camp. The water skins dropped from Red's arms at the sight of Regina and Graeme. With only a few strides, she had crossed the space between her and Regina, grabbed the folds of the sorceress' cloak, and dragged her to her feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. Her eyes shone yellow in the fading light. Graeme stood and tried to catch Red's arm to hold her back, but she shook him off.

"Having a conversation with your fiancé," Regina said smoothly, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. "Or is that not allowed?"

Red's lip curled. "Stay away from him. And me." She released Regina with a little push, just enough to set her off balance, make her stumble.

"If you insist," Regina said lightly. With all eyes on her, she came to sit across from Charming at the fire. And none but him saw the look on triumph in her eyes as she did.


	20. A Good Turn and a Bad Turn

"I should head back," Belle said. She lifted their clasped hands to her lips and kissed the back of Rum's. "They'll start to wonder where I am."

Rum turned to face her, stepping close so their hands were trapped between their chests. "So soon?"

"I come to see you every minute I get. What more do you want?"

He stole a kiss through her giggles. "That," he said against her lips. "That's what I want."

Gently Belle pushed him away. As much as she wished him to continue, she couldn't afford to rouse much more suspicion from her friends.

"Well, you've had that now," she said. "I have to go."

"Are you on watch tonight?" His fingers played with the ends of her hair, their odd texture pulling at her curls in a way nothing else could.

"Not tonight. See you in the morning?"

He nodded, then pulled her to him for one last kiss. "In the morning."

 

* * *

 

Belle shook out her hair and tied it back up in a messy ponytail. With less than a week until the library's anniversary celebration, the work left to be done was only more and more glaringly obvious. The furniture had to be rearranged, the books needed to be shelved, the decorations put up, the final arrangements made. And Madame Mayor was not proving to be very interested in helping out in the preparations for her celebration.

At Mary Margaret's suggestion, Belle had gathered as many high school students as possible and offered to pay them a bit—at the town's expense—to help her move the shelves to make room for all the people expected to attend that weekend. Why this had to be done in the dead of winter was a mystery to Belle, but she didn't have much say in it. True, the library had opened in January five years ago, but she was sure that if the mayor had wanted to, that fact could be overlooked. There simply wasn't that much space in the library. On quiet afternoons it seemed large, yes. That didn't mean it would fit several hundred people.

Sitting on top of the circulation desk, Belle assumed the role of supervisor. It had proved impossible to get work of her own done with a half dozen people following her around. So she simply assigned everyone to something and left them to carry it out.

"Hey there," David said, coming to lean against the desk next to her.

"Hey," Belle said. She had a notebook and pen in hand, and was crossing out tasks as they were completed. "How are things going?"

"Dusty. Those shelves haven't been moved in years."

Belle laughed. "Well, they were like that when I opened this place, so it could be decades."

"Certainly seems like it."

One of the students came up then, asking for another job. Belle gave him one, crossing off his last task before turning back to David. "Sorry," she said. "Work to do."

"It's fine." He paused, grin fading. "How are you?" he asked. "Really."

The question took Belle by surprise. The automatic answer of "fine" wouldn't do. "I'm…" she started. "I'm hanging in there. This anniversary celebration is taking up all my time."

"Yeah, no kidding. I haven't seen Mary Margaret in a week."

"Well, I'm sure she misses you," Belle said. He and Mary Margaret were too cute together, always looking to spend time together or thinking about each other. Belle was happy for them. They'd have a long, wonderful life together when the time came. That was more than could be said for herself, seeing as she was no closer to a relationship than she was to sprouting wings and flying away.

"Well, I'd better get back to it," David said, pushing off the desk. "Don't want the boys back there to tip the shelves over."

Belle grinned. "Go protect my books."

"With pleasure," David said, giving her a miniature bow, as if he really was the prince from her story that he resembled so much. Belle closed her eyes a moment once he was gone, trying to collect her scattered thoughts to focus on the task at hand. One thing was for certain: this celebration would be spectacular, despite the work left to do.

 

* * *

 

The company proceeded through the forest in a rough line. Red walked in the front and Regina in the back, as far from each other as possible. The two had not spoken since Regina had tried to flirt with Graeme several days before. They'd given each other wide berth around the camp, never coming closer than strictly necessary. Graeme was sticking generally close to Red. It didn't strike Snow that he was scared of Regina, more that he was willing to take advantage of the protection Red offered.

The whole matter was ridiculous.

Walking beside Snow, Belle stared off into space. Somehow she managed not to trip and fall. An impressive feat with the blank thoughtfulness in her eyes. She was miles away.

"Belle?" Snow nudged her arm, bringing her back to reality.

"Yes?" Her voice was soft, peaceful, as if she'd been roused from a dream.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." She sounded it too. Perfectly happy. Oblivious to the tensions the company carried as they walked on.

"You seemed pretty lost in thought. What were you thinking about?"

Belle frowned a little, blinking. "I don't really remember anymore. It faded away. Guess it wasn't that important."

"No, I guess not."

"What about you?" Belle asked. "Are you doing alright?"

"I suppose," Snow said. Up ahead, Red and Graeme walked side by side, a little closer than usual. Snow glanced over her shoulder. Regina walked with Hook, but wasn't listening to a word he said. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Red and Graeme, dark with anger.

"What's wrong?"

Snow sighed. There was no getting past Belle. "It's Red and Regina and… I hate all this anger. We were so happy, and now all we do is fight."

Belle ducked her head, nodding.

"I don't mean you," Snow said. "None of this is your fault. You know that, right?"

"I know," Belle said. It didn't sound convincing, but Snow didn't push the issue. There was no real way to help her. She'd lost her true love to her best friend. No one could be expected to get over that easily. Snow couldn't imagine losing Charming like that. To have to see him every day, but to not be with him. What surprised her, though, is that Belle wasn't fighting. She wasn't the sort to just give up and take orders like this. Perhaps it was Graeme's influence? He was a peacekeeper, generally. Or perhaps it was whatever had caused this… difference in her. She wasn't like she'd always been. None of it made sense.

"We're supposed to be on a mission," Snow said. "We don't have time for these petty arguments."

"No, we don't," Belle said, but her attention was no longer truly there. She was lost again in her thoughts, looking out into the forest. There was a hint of a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

A day later, what dust hadn't been vacuumed up had settled back onto the shelves. The work continued with Belle spending yet another set of hours on top of the circulation desk, coordinating her volunteers. The high school was within walking distance, so she'd recruited everyone with a study hall to help out. The students returned to school at noon, allowing Belle to have a break. She shut herself in the back office and collapsed into her desk chair.

When all this was done, she was never agreeing to any of the mayor's ideas ever again.

She picked up her phone from the desk. One new voice mail. Putting it on speaker, Belle leaned back to listen.

" _Hey Belle, it_ _'s Ruby. Come by the diner as soon as you're on break, okay? I've got something to tell you. It's urgent._ "

Belle left the library locked, with a sign in the door saying she'd return soon. It was most likely something to do with the food for the celebration. She really, really didn't need something to go wrong this close to Saturday.

As soon as she entered the diner, Ruby waved her over to the counter. A bowl of soup and a glass of iced tea were set in front of her as soon as she sat down.

"Compliments of the house," Ruby said. "I'm in a good mood and you didn't eat yet, did you?"

"So there's no problem with Saturday?" Belle asked, confused.

"What? No. Did you think there was?"

"If that's not why you called me here, what's so urgent?"

"Ohhh," Ruby said, finally understanding. "No, everything's fine. Better than fine."

"Okay." Belle didn't really know what Ruby could be talking about—she had ideas, thousands of possibilities all at once, but none of them stood out as obvious. "What happened?"

Ruby grinned. It spread over her face slowly, as if she couldn't help it.

"Graham asked me out."

" _What?_ "

Ruby squealed a little. "I know. He did."

"When—how?"

After a quick glance back to make sure no one was at the register, Ruby settled in to tell, arms leaning on the counter.

"This morning," she began, grin on her face, "he comes in for a cappuccino, and there's no one here, so we got talking casually. And then he's like 'what are you doing Saturday?' and I told him I'm going to the anniversary celebration of course, and he's like 'what are you doing afterwards?' and I said I didn't have any plans, so he asked if I'd like to go out somewhere with him."

Belle grinned. "Where are you going?"

"The Rabbit Hole." Ruby shrugged. "It's not the best place, but we didn't want to have Granny staring down our necks on a date, so there's really nowhere else."

Belle took a sip of her iced tea, still grinning. That was enough really, she didn't have to say how happy she was for Ruby, just as Ruby didn't have to say how excited she was. It was evident on both their faces.

"You're okay with this?" Ruby asked.

"What? Of course I am," Belle said. "You've wanted this. It's wonderful."

"But… you liked him." Ruby shrugged a little. "It's okay if you wish things were different."

Belle shook her head. "Not at all. I thought he was cute, that's all. And anyway, now…"

"You have Mr. Gold." Ruby nodded. "Are you any closer to asking him out?"

"Ruby!" Belle exclaimed. "I'm not—"

"I'd like two coffees to go, please," a cold voice said. Belle turned. Regina. She was as poised as ever, but there was a small twist of a smile to her lips. She'd heard.

Ruby stood up straight. "Just one moment."

Regina leaned against the counter as she waited, saying nothing. A sinking fear spread through Belle's stomach. While her crush on Mr. Gold was no longer a secret from her friends, it wasn't something she was advertising publicly either. And Regina Mills was the last person she'd trust with the information.

The coffees were ready minutes later. Ruby handed them to Regina with exaggerated friendliness.

"Enjoy your extra caffeine," she said, all confidence and triumph. Regina scowled as she took the coffees, then marched out of the diner in a huff.

Ruby watched her go, arms crossed, victorious smirk on her face. Belle simply ate her soup, wishing the food could bury her disquiet.

"Belle? Are you alright?" Ruby asked, turning back to her.

"She overheard all of that," Belle said, looking over to the door. There was no sign of her anymore.

"So she knows that I'm going out with Graham? Good. Maybe she'll back off him."

"No, not that," Belle said. She glanced around and lowered her voice. "She heard about Mr. Gold."

Ruby looked completely confused.

"I didn't exactly want that to be public information."

"What's she going to do?" Ruby asked. "Tell him? It's not exactly a secret between you two."

Belle sighed. It was no use explaining. "I don't know," she said. "But it can't be good."

"Alright then." Ruby smiled and left to handle another customer at the register, leaving Belle alone.

Ruby couldn't understand. But there was something strange going on these past few months. Her character was walking the streets, she'd talked to the man she'd spent months only stealing glances at, the mayor had demanded this ludicrous celebration. And Belle knew, that if reality was anything like fiction, Regina knowing about her and Gold could only mean trouble.

 

* * *

 

"Graham!" Belle called, running down the sidewalk after the sheriff. He paused, hand on the door to the station.

"Belle? What is it?"

She reached him a moment later, breathing a bit heavily. Running around ice patches in heels wasn't easy. She held out the papers in her hands.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. These need to be signed by the sheriff before Saturday."

Graham glanced them over and nodded. "Come on in then."

The station was warm. Graham led her back to his office, where he hung his jacket on the rack. He sat on the desk and motioned for her to take his chair. Belle sat and laid out the forms on the desk.

"Sorry about this," Belle said. "Madame Mayor informed me this morning that the celebration can't go on without them."

"Sounds like her for certain," Graham said. Casually, he reached forward and plucked the pen she had tucked behind her ear. He skimmed the forms over, tracing his progress with the pen.

"So," Belle said, "I heard about you and Ruby."

Graham nodded casually, but Belle didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed for a moment. "I expected you would."

"Congratulations," Belle said.

"Thanks," he said, relaxing more. He signed the first form and moved on to the second. "I just hope Regina will stop coming after me now."

"If she does, Ruby can fight her off."

Graham nodded, smiling a bit—completely hopeless. "She probably can."

"Have you told Mary Margaret yet?" Belle asked.

"Not yet. Neither of us have seen her. She's too busy preparing for your celebration." Graham signed the last two forms and stacked them together with the first. Belle gathered the forms and stood.

"I know, I know. Take it up with Mayor Mills, not me."

"I'd rather not."

 

* * *

 

The camp fire wasn't starting properly, but Charming didn't dare ask Regina for help with it. She'd been in a right foul mood the past few days. If he asked for help, it was more likely that he'd be incinerated rather than the wood. So he poked at the attempt at a fire and re-lit it every few minutes when it sputtered out again and again and again.

"Allow me," Graeme said. He crouched beside Charming and took the flint from him. With nimble fingers, he rearranged the hot logs and struck another spark. This one caught and started a few weak flames. They were small, but they remained, growing bit by bit.

"Thank you," Charming said. It looked like he wouldn't have to involve Regina after all.

"You're welcome." Graeme leaned forward, gently blowing on the small, wavering flames, coaxing them along.

"Where is everyone?" Charming asked, looking around the beginnings of their camp for the night. The only other person he could see was Regina, who was just inside her shelter, creating little puffs of dark purple smoke between her hands.

"Red went with Belle and Snow to get water," Graeme said. "And I haven't seen our pirate lately."

Red, Belle, and Snow. The three most important women in both their lives, it seemed. For Charming: his wife and her closest friends, all but sisters. For Graeme: his wife-to-be, his adopted sister, and his lost love. A tragic combination.

"You've been talking more with Red lately," Charming observed.

"She's pleasant company." As expected, the Huntsman drew back within himself at the turn to his personal thoughts. But to anyone who had eyes, it was plain that he thought of Red as much more than mere "pleasant company". The Huntsman did not seek others company for conversation, not even Snow's. The only person who'd had that honor before was Belle.

"I'm glad you're not unhappy," Charming said, careful not to invade Graeme's privacy with his comments. But he truly was glad. His company was very nearly family to him. Their happiness mattered.

"No… I'm not." Graeme stared into the flames that now flickered merrily.

"And what about you and Belle?" Charming asked.

"What of it?" A touch of bitterness came through his careful voice. "We'll always love each other. It's just different now."

"And you're alright with that?"

"More than I used to be," Graeme said shortly. He stood. "I think the fire will last."

"Yes," Charming agreed, caught off guard by the sudden change. "It will. Thank you."

Graeme nodded and retreated to his shelter, leaving Charming to tend to the fire alone.

 

* * *

 

It snowed overnight. The company broke camp quickly to keep their blood flowing. The snow crunched under their boots, thankfully not soaking through. Belle didn't dare sneak away to see Rum—they were moving too quickly for that. Instead, she kept an eye on the woods as they marched towards home, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. If he dared get so close, that is.

Without seeing him, there seemed to be an ache within her. Not one of cold, but as if something was missing from her. Was this what her life would become? Was this ache all she would be left with once they'd returned? She didn't think she could bear spending the rest of her life trapped in the Castle, even if she were surrounded by her beloved books, if it meant never seeing him again.

At the same time, when had she fallen so far in love? At what point had she needed him so much? She knew better than to think it made her weak—love was strength, the truest strength in existence. But it seemed so far, so fast. To think, as she'd traveled these woods heading the other way, she'd been mourning Graeme. And now she was close to mourning Rum.

"Stop!" Charming called from the front of the line. "Everyone stop."

Belle froze, along with the rest. Charming motioned with his hand and they crept forward quietly to where Charming stood.

There, in the snow. Tracks in the snow, rimmed with blood.

"Ogres," Graeme said. Snow drew in a sharp breath. Red closed her eyes, squeezing them tight. Hook began to mutter curses under his breath. "They're recent. Perhaps a couple hours from here."

"Wonderful," Regina said, crossing her arms over her chest. "They've probably been just below us this whole time. Who knows when they crossed the mountains?"

"So this whole venture has been wasted so far?" Hook asked. If the situation wasn't so frustrating, Belle might have laughed. The pirate looked incredibly annoyed. Everyone knew Hook was excited to return, possible consequences aside.

"So what do we do now?" Snow asked, looking to Charming for his decision. They could either track these ogres themselves or return for reinforcements.

"How many are there?" Charming asked Graeme.

"No more than two dozen, probably not even that many."

Charming nodded, thinking. Belle looked to Red. She looked just as unhappy as Hook. None of them wanted to spend many more nights in the cold. They'd just gotten used to the idea of going home. And now that was taken away.

"We'll track them," Charming announced. "Once they're dead, we'll return home."

 

* * *

 

Mr. Gold came out from his back room, dusting off his hands. It was nearly time to close the shop. He considered staying the night in the back—he really didn't fancy the idea of walking home in the snow—but that would only lead to stiff joints and discomfort come morning.

Straightening the counter, he couldn't quiet the feeling that something felt out of place. Odd. The feeling only grew stronger the more he tried to ignore it. He stood completely still, trying to place it.

There. Barely noticeable: a hint of perfume in the air. Prompted by instinct, Gold opened the register. Within, a single white card with red script:

_Tomorrow night. Don_ _'t be late. Love, C._

Gingerly, he took the card and ripped it into as many pieces as he could before throwing it away. Tomorrow night, it seemed, he had a date.

 


	21. A Midwinter Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a health, here's a toast  
> To a prosperous year,  
> To our friends who are here  
> May the splendor never fade  
> What a blessed release  
> And what a masquerade!  
> ~"Masquerade", Phantom of the Opera

"…to a new era of learning for our community, all thanks to the resources contained within…"

Cora Mills' speech had reached the ten minute mark. She stood on a platform just outisde of the library's front doors, while the townspeople stood shivering below her. Belle had given her the opportunity to say a few words to open the celebration—it was, after all, her idea—but she hadn't meant quite this many words. From her place in the front, Belle looked around as inconspicuously as she could. As the librarian, she felt she should be paying closer attention as an example, but really, it was getting ridiculous.

Everyone had turned out, despite the cold. After all the hours of help and effort put into the preparations, no one had wanted to miss it. The crowd murmured softly to each other, complaining about the cold and wondering when the mayor would be done so they could get started, but Cora gave them no mind. Belle shivered and tried to bury her neck in her scarf, but somehow, the cold always managed to slip through.

Ruby and Graham stood next to each other a ways off. Ruby gave Belle a wave when she looked in their direction. Belle nodded. Everyone she knew was here. There was something special about that. Often it seemed as if she was alone in the library. But they'd all come out to support her. Ashley stood on Graham's other side. Belle didn't know the older, curly-haired man next to her, but Leroy stood just behind him.

"Thank you and enjoy the celebration," Cora said, stepping back from the microphone. Finally. Belle took Cora's place quickly, freezing hands stuffed in her pockets.

"Thank you, Madame Mayor, for those… inspiring words," Belle said. "Now, we'll open the doors here in a sec. I hope you all enjoy yourselves. Please remember that the children's plays will begin in one hour. They've been working very hard on these, so take some time to watch. Those will continue until three o'clock, when the celebration comes to a close." She looked around, and nodded to David, who was standing ready at the doors. "Let the celebration begin!"

Inside was warm, thankfully. Belle barely got in the door around all the people. The library had officially never been this full. And really, this wasn't about the library. This was an excuse to not work for a day and instead socialize and eat Granny's delicious food. For the first time, Belle was truly able to appreciate exactly what had been put together. It wasn't just a few kids' plays and some food and a whole lot of work. All over the library, between the shelves and the desks, folks had set up activities and festivities—it was like Miner's Day two months early, and indoors.

Belle wasn't sure how she ended up with a line of people waiting to talk to her, but she didn't even make it past the circulation table. Everyone seemed to want to thank her for the celebration or congratulate her on five years as librarian or simply say hello.

"Really, you have no idea how much your work means to me," Kathryn Price said, clasping Belle's hand. Beside her, Fredrick nodded.

"It's a pleasure, really," Belle assured her. "Are you still planning to go to Boston?"

"We're working on it," Kathryn said. "It's slow going, but the plans are coming together. Hopefully sometime this year."

"Well, you'd better come say goodbye before you go." Over in the corner, a flash of movement caught Belle's eye. It was Rum. He hovered there, looking out over the crowds of people.

"Of course I will." Kathryn hugged Belle, interrupting her view of Rum. "I'll let you talk to everyone else, but really, thank you."

Belle nodded, but wasn't really paying attention. In those few seconds, Rum had vanished completely.

It took nearly an hour for the line to deplete and give Belle a moment to breathe. After today, she was going to shut herself up in her apartment and sleep for a week without talking to anyone. For the moment, however, she roamed around, watching the celebrations. Well, that and looking for Rum.

She caught glimpses of him every so often, but he moved away too quickly. Even without his purple smoke vanishing act, he was fast. It was almost as if he didn't want to be found.

"Belle!"

She turned to see Grace Hatter, bouncing up and down. The girl wore a blue dress and her hair was carefully pinned back. Her father stood behind her, as sad and grim as always, but with a special light in his eyes for his daughter.

"How are you today, Grace?" Belle asked, crouching down to match her height.

"I'm good," Grace said. "Are you going to come see me in the play later?"

"Of course. Which one are you in?"

"Alice in Wonderland." Grace grinned, hands fisted in her skirt as she twisted back and forth in excitement. "I'm Alice."

"Spitting image," Belle agreed. "Are you nervous?"

"I'm a princess," Grace said, as if it were obvious. "Princesses don't get nervous."

"And this princess needs to get backstage," Jefferson said, laying a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Excuse us."

"Of course," Belle said, standing. They left, Grace chattering happily on. A strange feeling settled on Belle—she turned, looking around.

From the doorway, Mr. Gold was staring at her. There was an odd, softer expression in his eyes. Had he seen her talking to Grace? How long had he been there? He didn't move and his expression didn't change as she headed toward him.

"Belle?"

Swallowing her disappointment, Belle turned. "Hello Regina."

"I'd been hoping to catch you," Regina said, taking her arm and leading her across the room, away from Gold. Belle couldn't help but glance back, and saw Gold turning and limping away. Regina cleared her throat. Right. She was waiting for an answer.

"Really? Why?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on your success, of course," Regina said. Her smile was wide, welcome even—to anyone who hadn't grown up with her and her smiles. "It's encouraging to see one's classmates grow up to be successful."

"I didn't become President," Belle said. "I run a library."

"A center of learning. This place was closed for all of our childhoods. You've done a wonderful thing by making it open to the town again." She let Belle's arm go. "Now, I'm sure you have many things to take care of. I'll let you go. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you."

"Yes, of course," Belle said. She was still distracted. Rum was somewhere around here—she hadn't seen him in weeks—and Gold was here too. Her head was a mess. There was too much noise and too many people for her to sort things out properly. "Thank you, you're welcome."

She made to leave and go find Gold or Rum.

"Wait," Regina said. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"After the celebration's over, I'd like to talk to you," Regina said. Her smile was gone, replaced with a look of—was it pity? "I have some news for you."

"Tell me now," Belle said, snapping her head back to reality. This was no time to lose focus. This was Regina. Head games were her specialty.

"It's… sensitive in nature," Regina said. "Best for a private conversation. I'll meet you in your office at three, then?"

Belle nodded tersely and stalked away. Leave it to Regina to spoil her day. She looked around for any sign of Gold or Rum, but saw neither. It was nearly ten o'clock, and most of the crowd was gathering in the children's section for the first play: an adaptation of _The Wizard of Oz_.

Belle watched from the back, not entirely paying attention to the children scampering across the stage. How could she? The idea that Regina had "sensitive" news scared her. It was rare enough for Regina to seek her out, but news that could only be shared in private? Belle could only hope it had nothing to do with Ruby and Graham.

Play after play came to life on the little makeshift stage, each by a different group of children. Story after story told itself, and Belle knew each one by heart. The fourth of the plays was Mary Margaret's class. Belle forced herself from the depths of her thoughts to pay attention. Grace Hatter was a wonderful Alice, all smile and curiosity. As if she could be nothing else, as if she really was Alice, and not just a little girl playing the role. Belle shook her head to rid it of such ridiculous thoughts. Leaving only her imagination to distract her from worry was never a good thing.

"I'm looking for things that begin with the letter 'm,'" the little boy on stage said. Belle smiled as the children began to list everything they could think of—muffins, mothers, moles, monkeys, mops. And above their tea table, perched on the stage's upper scaffolding, sat Rumpelstiltskin.

Belle's mouth dropped open. Of course, no one else could see him, but still. He was solid, wasn't he? The scaffolding probably wasn't sturdy enough to hold him for long. He caught her eye and grinned maniacally. Leaning backward, he mimed unscrewing the chandelier that hung over the tea table.

Unable to wave at him for fear of attracting attention, Belle shot him her best glare. He laughed at it, but stopped messing around and jumped down off the scaffolding, landing inches from Mary Margaret's face. Belle prepared to give him a tongue-lashing under her breath once he got over to her, but he didn't come. He simply disappeared into the crowd. There was no purple smoke—he was still there, just not with her.

It sent a pang through her. He was her character, no? What could he be doing? She'd thought characters were supposed to stick with her always. But then again, he'd left her alone with writers' block for thinking about killing him off once. Perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised.

Still, she scanned the crowd, looking for him. No one had moved much since the plays started. Mary Margaret was still in the front row, mouthing the kids' lines as they said them. David was beside her, holding her hand. Ruby and Graham were off to the side, also holding hands, to the great interest of a couple people near them. Regina was still near the front, but Cora was no longer beside her. Actually, Cora was no longer in the room.

The play ended and the audience applauded. Grace curtsied in the center of the stage, then jumped off and ran to embrace her father. The rest of the children paraded down the center aisle and out to the lobby to meet their parents. Belle followed to congratulate them, leaving the crowd to talk until the stage was reset for the next performance.

Though the rest of the library was still full of people drifting between the various activities, the lobby was empty except for the children. Grace came running up to Belle and threw her arms around her waist.

"You were wonderful," Belle said, hugging the girl back. Jefferson hurried to them, a grin on his face.

"Thank you, Belle," Grace said. "Thanks for letting us do a play."

"Come along, Grace." Jefferson led his daughter away with a nod to Belle. It was as close to thanks as she'd get from him, she supposed. His daughter's happiness meant the world to him, that was evident enough from looking at him.

Belle turned and nearly ran into Mary Margaret, who hugged her tight. Belle hugged her back.

"Great job," Belle whispered in her ear. Mary Margaret pulled away, grinning.

"Thanks. I'm really proud of the kids. They did a great job."

"Are you glad it's over?" Belle asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone dart between the stacks of books. With a glance, she confirmed it was Rum.

"Yes? I don't know," Mary Margaret said. "It was exhausting and nearly drove me up the wall, but it was fun."

"I'm glad it's over," David said, coming up and slipping an arm around Mary Margaret's waist. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Belle, I haven't seen my fiancée in over a week."

Belle laughed and nodded. David and Mary Margaret returned to the children's section for the next performance. Belle knew she should follow them, but instead she crossed to the circulation desk and leaned against it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to compose her thoughts. This was exhausting. It had been exhausting for the past two weeks. At least everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

But at the moment she wasn't the only one not taking part in the festivities. Through the door she'd seen Rum dart past, two figures stood. An uneasy feeling came over her. Carefully, staying out of direct sight of them, she crossed to them. It was Cora, talking to the man she hadn't recognized earlier during the speech. They were talking quickly, quietly. It seemed like they were arguing, but Belle couldn't be sure.

Cora glanced around. Her eyes fell on Belle.

Belle's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't heard anything, but she could sense that regardless of its contents, the very event of this conversation was meant to be secret. With as much confidence and poise as she could muster, Belle nodded to Cora, then turned to go back to the children's performances.

By the last performance, the library had begun to empty out. Young children were cranky and bored, the teens had left long ago, and the adults' patience for mediocre theater was waning. Mr. Gold still sat in the same chair he'd occupied all along, impassively watching play after play. Belle didn't dare approach him. Not in public, not when all eyes would be on her, not when they'd only spoken once. It was all excuses, but that knowledge didn't stop her from listening to them.

The play ended and the children took their last bows. Belle hurried from the room, making her way to the front desk in case anyone needed to speak to her. She hadn't forgotten Regina's ominous promise of news. The faster everyone left, the better.

A hand grabbed her arm as she slipped through the crowd, grasping tighter than Ruby or Mary Margaret would have, hurting her a bit.

"What—" She swallowed the first words that came to mind. It was Geoffrey. She had many things she wanted to say to him. None of them were appropriate to be shouted here and now.

"Belle, it's been a while." Behind him was her father. Both looked friendly, kind hearted. As if they hadn't ignored everything she'd ever asked of them.

"Not long enough," Belle snapped, wrenching her arm from Geoffrey's grip.

"We've missed you, Lizzy," Moe said, stepping forward. "I was worried when you didn't come for Christmas."

"Don't call me that." She was doing her best not to draw attention, but her harsh tone carried, drawing sidelong looks from the passing townspeople.

"You should come around for dinner," he continued. "Geoffrey could come too. He said he'll give you another chance."

Geoffrey nodded emphatically.

Maybe it was the stress of putting the day together. Maybe it was Regina's news hanging over her head. Maybe it was the glimpses of Cora and Rum all over the place. Truly, Belle didn't care to think out the exact cause.

"Another chance?" She laughed, coldly. Even if she didn't know where this anger and bitterness had been hiding within her, she didn't care to stop it. "I don't _want_ another chance. You think you can control me and make decisions for me? It's my life. You don't have the right."

"Lizzy—"

"No. Get out. Get the hell out and don't come back. I don't want to see either of you again." Shaking with anger, Belle stalked away, head held high.

How dare they come here and try to speak to her about second chances. They'd long past blown through all of theirs. As much as is pained her to be estranged from her father, she was left with no other choice. She couldn't let them try to control her life. No one but she had that right.

In her anger she didn't see where she was going and crashed right into Killian next to the circulation desk. He gripped her arms gently and pushed her back a bit, looking her over, a concerned crease on his forehead.

"Hey there," he said. "What's wrong?" He dropped his hands, but his concern didn't fade. "Belle?"

She took a deep breath and put a smile on her face. "Hey."

"What's wrong?" he repeated.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." She smiled wider. She wasn't sure why she was hiding herself from Killian, but she didn't want to talk about it now. The crowd was thinning. Regina would be waiting for her.

"It doesn't look like nothing." Of course, just because she wanted to hide it from him didn't mean he couldn't see right through her.

"Fine. I ran into my father. And Geoffrey," she admitted. Killian's face darkened and he took a step past her. Belle grabbed his arm. "No!"

"What?"

"You can't hurt them."

"Why not?"

"Cause they're civilians," Belle deadpanned. Killian rolled his eyes, but relaxed. "I handled it," Belle said.

Killian looked her over. "Sure looks like it." He sighed. "Look, I don't mean to tease. What did they say?"

"Just the usual—" she started.

"Hey!" Ruby came running up, Graham a step behind her. She threw her arms around Belle, hugging her tight. Grateful for her heels so she wasn't lifted off her feet, Belle hugged her friend back. She had near perfect timing.

"You guys heading out?" Belle asked.

"Yeah." Ruby pulled back, grinning widely, holding Belle's hands in hers. "Wish us luck."

"With all my heart." Belle grinned. Beside them, Killian and Graham were standing awkwardly, unsure what to do. Belle gave Ruby a wink. "Have fun."

"You'd better not hurt her," Killian said abruptly, and swallowed. "I'd tell you what I'll do, but you're, you know, the sheriff."

"Understood." Graham nodded as seriously as he could. Belle rolled her eyes and Ruby shook her head. Dorks, both of them.

"Call me later?" Belle said.

"Of course." Ruby grinned a bit wider and glanced at Graham. "Well, we should go."

Belle nodded and, dropping Ruby's hands, stepped back. Graham took her hand then, and nodded to Belle and Killian. Belle smiled as they walked out, their hands entwined between them. Right behind them, Cora Mills also left. It seemed the party was truly over now.

"You sure you're okay?" Killian asked, drawing Belle's attention back to him.

"Yeah." The response was automatic. She forced herself to smile a bit, as if she was revealing her true feelings. "I'll be fine." He didn't look quite convinced, but didn't push it. "Look, I have to go," Belle said. "Stuff to get done."

"Alright." He nodded. "Don't worry yourself out about things." Behind him, there was a column of purple smoke that only she could see. Rum vanishing. "You'll be fine."

"I am fine."

"Good."

Regina was waiting for Belle in her office. She sat in the desk chair, legs crossed, deceptively kind smile on her face. Belle shut the door behind her and offered a smile of her own. Instead of taking the empty folding chair across from Regina, she sat on top of her desk. So much for Regina controlling the power dynamic.

"Belle," Regina said. "Thank you for seeing me."

Overly polite? Belle could play this game.

"Of course. It's no problem. What is it you wanted to talk about?" Polite? Fine. Wasting time on pleasantries? No.

"I wanted to offer you some information," Regina said. "I think you might find it… beneficial."

"And what might this be?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Ruby the other day. Really, if you don't want things to be public, you shouldn't talk so loud."

"And your point?" Belle asked sweetly, ignoring Regina's needling.

Regina sighed. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm afraid I can't _not_ tell you, as… awkward as it may be." Her expression of concern wouldn't have fooled a four year old. "You see… Mr. Gold isn't available."

"What?"

"He's in a relationship," Regina said crisply. "With my mother."

Belle could only freeze. Words wouldn't come. Denial wouldn't come either. There was only a blank weight on her tongue, an inability to comprehend the simple words hanging in the air.

"Well, it's not a romantic relationship," Regina continued. "More of a not-friends-but-still-with-benefits situation. But a relationship nonetheless."

"Wha—How?" Belle stuttered. Her mind was still immobile. This could not be.

"I didn't want to tell you. After all, I didn't know if their… arrangement was still in place. But he came over only last night." Regina sighed, and stood. "I'm sorry, Belle," she said, and walked out.

The door closed behind her with a click.


	22. An Icy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're going down,  
> And you can see it too.  
> We're going down,  
> And you know that we're doomed.  
> My dear,  
> We're slow dancing in a burning room.  
> ~"Slow Dancing In A Burning Room", John Mayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the chapter truly belongs with the song "Sonata" by Mannheim Steamroller, but as it does not have words, I've selected the lyrics of a good substitute for the beginning.

The cold outside didn't bother Belle. It couldn't. She was too numb inside. It couldn't be true. Regina was lying. It couldn't be true. Gold would never.

She walked home from the library, head ducked down so no one could see her face. The wind was beginning to pick up. It swirled around her. The storm was coming, just like they'd said it would.

Regina had to be lying.

Yet where had he been the night before, when she'd passed the dark Pawn Shop?

She had no answers.

No answers.

It couldn't be true.

 

* * *

 

The snow started late at night. It came quietly. The winds died down, leaving only silence and softness. Large, fluffy snowflakes filled the air, barely leaving room to breathe without inhaling a puff of feathery water. The air was replaced with a sheet drifting downward and coating the ground, and then layer upon layer of snow. It enclosed the town in its cold embrace and smothered it in its blankets without warmth, white against the black of the night.

Storybrooke woke to find the snow still falling, piling up more and more against their doors that already could not be opened. Collectively the town sighed, resigning themselves to settle into their homes and wait until the storm ended. Even the smallest noises from the houses were muffled by the choking insulation of the snow, leaving silence as the only sound for miles around.

Down in her basement apartment, Belle woke to an odd dimness. The snow had piled up against her low windows, and the only light was what could filter through the ice crystals. She couldn't get out, but neither did she want to. Instead she dressed in the baggiest sweatshirt she could find and settled in with a cup of coffee to write.

She didn't know what was coming anymore. She hadn't for weeks, ever since she'd agreed to Rum's mad scheme of letting her characters tell the story. But tracking ogres instead of going home sounded good. There was a feeling of excitement that she couldn't place the source of, the sense that things were about to happen in ways she did not expect. She didn't know what would happened or when, but it would, and she couldn't wait to see it happen beneath her fingers.

Her hands settled over the keyboard, ready to type, the document open on the screen in front of her. _It seemed like days since they had stopped to rest_ _…_

She paused, unsure of how to go on. It seemed strange to be writing again. She'd become used to sneaking sentences in between preparations and meals and sleep. Now, she was completely free. The town was closed, her apartment cut off. The sudden change was disconcerting, leaving her unsure of how to slip back into life. The threads connecting her to her characters were frayed, unstable.

Closing her eyes, Belle leaned back in her chair. But that did no good either. The only thing she could see was Mr. Gold in his shop. Mr. Gold, and that night when Cora had been there—where had that meeting continued after she'd gone? How many other times had she not seen him because they had been together?

It was ridiculous to blame him. After all, what was it they'd had together? A few looks through the window? A single polite conversation? And she'd dared to call it "love". How great a fool she must have seemed.

 

* * *

 

It seemed like days since they had stopped to rest. The ogres weren't proving difficult to track. They didn't cover their tracks well, and anyway, Red could smell them. She seemed constantly nauseous from the stench. Graeme stayed close by her side just to make sure she didn't keel over from it.

The problem wasn't tracking the ogres—it was keeping up with them.

"They're running again," Red announced, standing up. "They're shaking the ground."

Hook groaned. "I suppose this means we're running too?"

"We can't let them gain any more distance," Charming said. "We'll rest a few hours tonight. Take a minute's breath and then we're off."

Belle took a deep drink of her water. It was too cold and hurt her teeth. At least running kept them warm. There wasn't much snow, but it was cold and wet enough to chill their feet as they walked. One tended not to notice the chill in one's feet when one was focused on the ache in one's ribs from running so far. She glanced at Regina beside her, who looked equally as unenthusiastic for another round of running. They nodded to each other, for once in agreement.

"Alright everyone. Let's go," Charming announced. Graeme and Red took off first, the rest following behind. Belle tried to lose herself in the beat of her feet in the slushy snow and forget everything else.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Gold and Cora. Belle couldn't stop thinking about them. Her cruel mind couldn't stop picturing them, imagining their secret meetings. It hurt to think of, but she couldn't stop. Her mind raced, searching, searching for a way out of this. A way it wouldn't be true. She could barely write, only sit on her couch and mull over yet another cup of hot chocolate.

The snow had not yet abated. It hadn't fallen much since that first day, but it was still impossible to get out the door. Belle was left alone with only her thoughts and worries for company.

She flipped her phone over and over in her hand. The metal was warm from holding it for so long. There was nothing left to do. Sitting here with her thoughts wasn't doing anyone any good. Sighing, she dialed and held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" the response came.

"Ruby?"

"Belle, what is it? Are you alright? You sound awful."

"I'm alright," Belle said, relaxing back into the couch. Ruby scoffed.

"You expect me to believe that for one second?"

"Not really," Belle admitted. She did sound terrible. Her voice was weak and watery. She'd spent the last four days trying not to cry.

"Tell me what's wrong," Ruby said. "Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"I'm at home. Like everyone else. A little cold, but that's all." Belle tucked her legs up underneath her so she was curled as tight as she could be in the corner of the couch.

"Then what is it?"

"It's... Regina."

"Regina?"

"Yeah." Even to her own ears, she sounded absolutely miserable. Just saying Regina's name was enough to remind her anew of her awful, awful news.

"Don't tell me you're in love with her now too," Ruby groaned.

"What? No!"

"That's what it sounds like."

"No it doesn't."

"Well, you only ever sound like that when you're thinking about Gold," Ruby said, then sighed. "What's going on?"

"I talked with Regina after the celebration yesterday."

"That's never good."

"Tell me about it," Belle said darkly.

"What did she say?"

"That..." Now that it came down to it, Belle didn't really want to say. She didn't want to admit how wrong, how stupid she'd been. She could ask about Ruby and Graham's date. She could talk about the weather. Anything but this. _Bravery_ , she thought. _Be brave_. She took a deep breath. "Mr. Gold and Mayor Mills are sleeping together."

There was silence from Ruby's end of the phone. Then more silence. And more.

"Ruby?"

"Yeah?" She sounded not shocked, but—guilty? A chill ran down Belle's whole body as her mind pieced together what she didn't want to consider.

"You...you didn't know about this, did you?" she asked. "Ruby?"

"No." Too fast. "Not for sure."

"What? And you didn't tell me?" How could she? She knew? Who else? So Belle had been a fool to the entire town, not just Mr. Gold?

"I didn't know. Not for sure." Ruby sighed heavily. "Look, they were together years ago, before you showed interest in him. I thought it was over, but no one could be sure."

"It's not over." Her voice shook, somewhere between bitter laughter and bitter tears.

"It never officially started either." Ruby's voice was soft, comforting. "I'm sorry, Belle. I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," Belle snapped.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Not really," she admitted. She wasn't. She was mad at Mr. Gold, mad at Cora Mills, even a little mad at Regina for telling her this. But not Ruby.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know." She could feel Ruby's sympathy in the silence through the phone. "I'll talk to you later, Ruby."

She hung up before Ruby could respond. The phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the carpet with a soft thump. Belle didn't pick it up. Instead, she covered her face with her hands and tried to rub away the tears before they had the chance to stain her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

_She closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep, her hand still in his._

Belle smiled, enjoying the slow slide out of complete and total focus on the words. There was a sense of peace, of accomplishment that came with finishing a scene. The way all the ends tied up in perfect completion. She saved the document and closed her laptop for the night.

The snow had begun to melt during the day. Business would be back to usual soon enough. For now, it was falling again, just barely, in the night. A few flakes were illuminated in the yellow outdoor lamps. Belle turned out the lights as she retreated back to her bedroom. She changed to pajamas and readied for bed slowly, without thinking much. There was a nice empty place in not thinking. It was far from other people and worries.

Crawling into bed, Belle turned out the last light and snuggled beneath her mound of blankets. Her heavy eyes closed and she drifted into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Rum appeared in his usual pillar of purple smoke. Belle was alone—well, as alone as she could be. The others were in their shelters around her, catching a few hours before they were off again on the hunt. They would only sleep for two watches before continuing on after the ogres. Their pace was relentless. Belle's whole body ached and her head felt light. But someone had to keep watch, especially this close to the enemy.

"Feeling alright, dearie?" he asked. His tone was dramatic enough to show an attempt to disguise his true concern.

Belle only shook her head. But that hurt too. Rum tutted and sat on a rock beside her. "You don't look well."

"I've been running all day. I'm exhausted."

"Then sleep."

"I can't. It's my watch." The idea of sleep sounded lovely though. Going on half a night would be torture tomorrow. Rum waved his hand and her bedroll and blanket appeared beside them from within her shelter.

"Sleep," he said.

"I can't—"

"I'll keep watch," he said. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes." Of course she did. Even though he was the Dark One, she did. Under his eye, she crawled under her blanket and pulled it up around her neck. It was lovely and warm, especially so much closer to the fire than she usually was. She reached out and grabbed Rum's hand.

"You'll stay here, right?"

He nodded. "I will."

She closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep, her hand still in his.

 

* * *

 

_Falling_.She was falling from high, high up by the tops of the red velvet curtains and the nails that held them to the high, high windows. The air rushed around her, both incredibly fast and breathtakingly slow. There was nothing around her, nothing below her. Only air and air and air—

She stopped falling. Caught in two arms, one under her legs, one around her back. And her own arms had somehow known to link around his neck. This strange man with the scaled skin and wide eyes who was so familiar, yet his name hidden behind a veil in her mind.

He stared at her as if she were some apparition. As if she was impossible. Yet it was not fear, but wonder in his eyes. As if she couldn't possibly be in his arms. And it was comfortable there. She was safe, safer that she had been in a long time. She was warm and there was the hint of a fire in her, pure excitement to be here with him.

_Shards_. Delicate china shattered on a fine crimson rug. The adrenaline from moment before faded, leaving her shaky all over, breath gone from her chest in a stifled gasp.

"…a quip," said the man in the chair at the end of the table in the center of the long room with the curtains nailed to the walls.

She looked down. The cup wasn't shattered. Not shattered, just chipped, a little piece of its fine rim lost in the thick carpet. Carpets like this were expensive. At least there hadn't been tea in the cup. No tea in the cup. She was sure it had been shattered a moment before. Or perhaps it was only her nerves that were shattered, strained too far by the terror and excitement of leaving.

Leaving where? She couldn't remember.

_Books_. This tower wasn't cold. Some towers were cold and nasty, but this one wasn't. It was warm and dry and filled with the scent of books and starlight. The books were old, made of parchment and leather and they whispered not modern love stories or bestsellers, but old magic and history in languages she could barely understand.

There was barely a speck of dust there, despite that he said it needed dusting. She wasn't stupid. She knew what he was doing, though he'd never admit it to her. (What exactly was he doing? She couldn't remember, couldn't remember.)

His leather clothes were rough when she hugged him. Not like the soft silk that had caught her from the ladder. Still, the touch shocked him. He didn't know how to hug or hold her—

_Falling_. She fell from the curtains into waiting arms.

He set her down and she brushed off her skirt and she was trying to quench the tingles where his arms had been and he was apologizing and—

_Bitter_. She set the tankard down on the wooden table. The bitter drink filled her mouth with its rich taste. Just feet away, the sad little man didn't drink with his companions. He needed love. Love healed, love was wonderful. He talked to her and she could only think of the castle she'd left behind and the man with the glittering skin whose name she couldn't remember. He'd sent her away and now she was gone never to return—

She was ripped from the tavern and away from there. It felt odd to be taken through this not-existing place. Not existing, then existing—

_Cold._ The cell was cold and she sat gazing at the door, waiting for it to open. He couldn't just leave her there forever, could he?

Then he was there. Sending her away. Away, away.

"I don't want you anymore, dearie."

She kept her pride and walked away, bitter warnings burning on her tongue like the drink in the tavern that she'd go to next. She walked through the castle in nothing but the dress on her back. Through the castle and out the door. Her foot stepped over the threshold out into open air away from her love—

And she was ripped from there to that not-existing place and then out of it again. Cannot leave. Cannot leave—

_Leaving_. His hand was on her back. So warm. She'd though it would be cold. The hand of her captor, master, she did not know who he was. She'd agreed to go away—or was it return?—to his estate. Who was he? He could save them. Save her. Behind her golden light like her golden dress.

And his hand was on her back like he was possessive and would be loving but wasn't yet.

_Room_. The door opened to the dark cold cell she hadn't marched out of yet. The man threw her in and she knew she'd land on the cold floor.

But she didn't.

She didn't fall.

Somehow she righted herself and walked gracefully into the magnificent ballroom. It was nearly empty and she seemed to have entered through the wall itself. The only occupant was a man in amber silk and red leather, staring not at her, but up at the top of the grand staircase at the far end of the ballroom. She walked up to him, careful not to trip on her golden gown that seemed to have magically become more extravagant and beautiful.

He smiled at her and offered her his arm. She took it and joined him in looking up at the staircase. It split at the top into two aisles to two doors. They both opened at the same moment. From the left emerged a man in a black tuxedo. Graeme. He had a rugged look, and though he seemed to feel natural in his clothes, they didn't seem to fit him. He was too wild for anything other than soft leather and a hunting cloak.

From the right, a woman in a blue ball gown. Herself. Belle. It was strapless and shimmered when she moved. Her throat was adorned with pearls, just as Belle's own neck bore a golden necklace with a ruby rose.

Graeme and the other Belle met in the middle of the staircase. He offered her his arm, the same tender look in his eyes she'd seen so many times at the Castle's balls. Belle noted the same look in her own eyes as the two descended the stairs together.

The music began the moment their feet touched the polished wood of the ballroom's floor. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling the room, as if it was played by the angels painted on the ceiling in clouds of gold. It was a duet between a piano and a harpsichord, the intricate, yet simple melody and counter melody twisting in and out of each other.

Rumpelstiltskin, the man beside her, dropped her arm and bowed low. A few feet away, Graeme did the same. Belle looked to herself a moment, then curtsied and took Rum's hand. So two couples began to dance, moving in and around each other like the music in its bewitching patterns.

As they moved through the unpracticed, but perfect steps, the music grew in complexity. Belle switched partners with herself again and again, so it was more as if the four of them were dancing as one instead of two separate pairs. Rum's hand on her back was tight, almost hesitant to let her go each time she twirled back to Graeme, whose hand was soft in hers and whose touch was gentle, polite. No matter whom she danced with, she could not keep her eyes from Rum, from studying him, watching him.

The music carried her along, as if each note directed her feet to where they needed to be at that moment. She was graceful, beautiful. Both of her were. Her skirts billowed as she twirled and her hair tickled her bare neck and shoulders where the curls fell from where they were pinned. She passed herself, changing partners again, and caught for a moment her own blue eyes and was lost in them, having never seen them before without the aid of a mirror.

Growing and growing, the music seemed to be faster and faster—or perhaps the steps were more and more intricate. Belle's face was flushed with exertion as she kept up to the rhythm of the duet.

As the music came to its final crescendo she was spun—spun away from Rum and past herself into Graeme's arms where she twirled and came to rest, back pressed against him, hands holding his with arms crossed around her waist, gazing.

There she saw herself, arms around Rum's neck, staring into his inhuman eyes, without a mite of space between them except the space of inches between their frozen, parted lips.

All was silent and motionless, then the moment was swept away into nothing.

 

* * *

 

Belle's eyes opened to darkness. It was only a dream. It had felt real, but it was a dream. That was all.


	23. A Secret and Its Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem is all inside your head  
> She said to me  
> The answer is easy if you  
> Take it logically  
> I'd like to help you in your struggle  
> To be free  
> There must be fifty ways  
> To leave your lover.
> 
> ~"50 Ways To Leave Your Lover", Paul Simon

By the time the roads were cleared, it had been a week since the first snow fall. Slowly, the people of Storybrooke ventured from their homes. There hadn't been much permanent damage, considering the strength of the storm. The worst was the ice-coated branch through the window of the mayor's office. No, most of the problem was digging cars and front doors out.

Belle's front door was still blocked off. She had to use the front door of the couple upstairs if she wanted out of her apartment. The downside to renting someone's basement, it seemed.. If she dressed warmly enough, she could make the walk to the library. At this point, the cold didn't really matter to her though. She simply wanted out of her apartment. A week without seeing anyone or anything except the same few walls was enough to drive anyone mad.

Fortunately, whoever had cleared the streets had had the sense not to push the snow off the roads and onto the doorsteps of the buildings. The sidewalks were cleared too, enough to walk on at least. Belle only had to break the icicles in front of the library's door to get in.

Her morning was spent wandering around in her coat since the library's heat had been off the whole week and wasn't too keen on starting up again quickly. The whole place was a mess. After Regina's… revelation, Belle hadn't stuck around to clean up, so no one else had either. She made a start collecting the bits of trash in a plastic bag, but it barely put a dent in the work to be done. The shelves had to be moved again, the scaffolding for the stage was still set up, half the young adult fiction seemed to have taken a vacation in the non-fiction section, and all the chairs had been moved upstairs for some reason she couldn't determine.

Around noon, she couldn't take it anymore. She looked for her coat on the coat rack and her desk chair and the front desk before realizing she was wearing it, grabbed her purse, and locked the library doors behind her.

Most of the town was still closed. Everyone was picking themselves back up. Even Granny's was closed. Belle walked past, slightly disappointed it wasn't a lunch option. She didn't turn back yet, but rather kept walking, content to simply be out in the open air again. It was bitterly cold and the breeze nipped at her face and ears and wrists that wouldn't fit in her pockets. She didn't mind at all. It was fresh air, alive, so much better than the endless days cooped up in her apartment.

The lights were on in the sheriff's station, so she knocked on the door. No one answered, but it was unlocked, so Belle let herself in.

Graham was in his office, surrounded by an explosion of neon green sticky notes.

"What happened?" Belle couldn't help but gape. Graham jumped at her voice.

"I needed a way to keep track of all the calls I've gotten," he said. "Regina's M.I.A. and the phone's been ringing all morning."

Belle took off her coat—the heat in the sheriff's station seemed to be working fine—and accidentally sent knocked a flurry of stick notes to the floor. She bent to help pick them up.

"This is Ruby's handwriting," she said, turning one over to read what was on it.

A guilty look came over Graham's face.

"She's been helping me out this morning." He gathered the last of the fallen notes and stood. "She'll be back with lunch soon, I think."

Belle nodded, a smile growing on her face. "And?"

He didn't even try to play ignorant. He just ducked his head to hide his grin.

"She… ah… she was at my place when the storm hit."

Belle raised her eyebrows.

"We went back so I could get my phone," Graham said. "I left it there. And then it started to snow and didn't stop."

"So she was with you all week?" Belle couldn't help but laugh a little.

Graham straightened several sticky notes into a neat pile.

"I see," Belle said, unable to keep the smirk off her face.

"How can I help you?" Graham asked. Then, when all Belle had for him was a blank look, he added, "You did come in here for a reason, right? Or was it just to needle me about my girlfriend?"

"Well, judging from that silly grin on your face, you need the needling." She straighted another stack of sticky notes. "No, I was just trying to get out of the library for a while. It's a mess. And the heat's taking forever to turn on."

"Well, you're welcome to help out here," Graham said. "Say here: you help me sort through these phone calls and then I'll recruit some people to help you out tomorrow putting the library back in order."

"Deal."

 

* * *

 

Hook shivered and poked some more at the fire. He'd landed second watch for the night—the last one. Chasing ogres was _not_ what he'd hoped to be doing with the last few days. No, he was supposed to be in a dingy, _warm_ cell in King George's magnificent Castle. Instead he was huddled in the snow with aching limbs and too little rum.

Something moved in the dark. Hook's hand snapped to his belt. He didn't take his dagger out, but waited, still and listening. A figure emerged from the shadows—

Regina, blanket around her shoulders, joined him by the fire. Hook's hand fell from the hilt of his dagger back to his side.

"You're up early," he remarked casually, trying to cover over his momentary alarm.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Something on your mind?"

Raising a sharply shaped eyebrow, Regina considered him a moment. "Yes."

Hook grinned, winking. "Tell me?"

"Alright." She frowned, a bit. Seemed she still hadn't forgiven him for that kiss. But they were long time friends—or, not-enemies really. "I've been watching Belle and Graeme for weeks," she whispered, glancing around to make certain they were alone. "Nothing. I can't find a single speck of dirt on them."

"Perhaps they're truly over each other."

"Please. Don't be stupid. No one gets over the type of love they had. No one."

"Why do you even want to catch them?" Hook asked. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

Regina glared at him. "I need it. Those three _princesses_ have stolen everything from me. It's time I paid them back."

Hook shrugged, holding up hands. "Alright, alright."

"They're never together," Regina said. "I've been watching both of them constantly. But Graeme is glued to the werewolf's side. It's impossible." Hook wasn't sure she was really talking to him anymore, just ranting at the air.

"Perhaps you're looking for the wrong thing, love."

Regina stopped and looked at him as if he were a bug. "Were you even listening to what I just said?"

"I don't mean abandon your revenge—by all means, do what you must. I'm only suggesting you revise your strategy."

"How?"

"If Belle isn't going off with Graeme, where is she going?" Hook asked, grinning at the stumped, dumbfounded look that came over Regina's face. He stood, grinning. "That is something we'd all like to know."

 

* * *

 

Once out of the warmth of the shower, Belle dressed as fast as she could. Somehow, moving the shelves back to where they belonged had been just as dusty as—if not more than—the first time around. Graham's help had been extraordinary. The library was well on its way back to normal. Thankfully. That whole anniversary business was over and done with. A bad memory.

Still, Regina words haunted her. Belle couldn't help but return to them again and again, searching for a way to discredit them. But there was no shaking the feeling in her gut that Regina spoke the truth. Mr. Gold was sleeping with Mayor Mills. There had been no lie in Regina's eyes or voice. And it was just like Regina to tell her now, when it would hurt most. Her friendly facade hadn't fooled Belle for a minute. She'd planned it. As soon as she'd heard Belle telling Ruby about her crush on Gold, Regina had only been waiting for an opportunity to tell.

Belle returned to her room and sat on the bed, combing through her hair with her fingers. The news about Gold and Cora wasn't the only thing eating at her, if she was honest with herself. No, it was the dream she'd had. It bothered her. All those flashes and places—she'd never seen or imagined them before, yet they seemed intimately familiar to her. It was like… like a childhood memory, one that was too distant to recall, but felt comforting nonetheless.

Then the dancing part. It was strange and bizarre, yet it had seemed so real. It was more vivid than any dream she'd had before. Almost like it was a memory too, though she was sure it was not.

Returning to the main room, she grabbed a notebook and pen and curled up on the couch, unsure whether she'd end up writing or doodling random squiggles. After the day at the library, she wasn't sure she was mentally up for more than squiggles.

Just as she set pen to paper, a purple cloud of smoke appeared near her front door.

"Where have you been?" She didn't mean to sound so irritable, but he was grinning and it didn't look like he was up to any good at all.

Rum shrugged. "Here, there, everywhere." He giggled and sat in her desk chair with a flourish.

Belle rolled her eyes and looked down to her paper. She had no ideas. Nothing she felt like writing. So she doodled a little whale, because she could. She took her sweet time, knowing Rum was growing impatient with being ignored.

"You don't look well," he said finally.

"It's been a long day." She started a second whale—the first one needed a friend.

"Nuh-uh." Rum stood, pacing before her with a spring in his step. "It's more than that." He leaned over her, glancing down at her doodle before she could cover it up. "You can tell me. I'm your character."

"Right. Like I didn't learn my lesson last time. You already convinced me you're not mine. No need to test me." A smile crept over her face. "Unless you forgot? Seriously? You spent all that time convincing me you're not, and now you are?"

"It's a figure of speech." He straightened, feathers definitely ruffled. Or not feathers—scales. Whatever.

"Fine," she said after a moment of staring at each other. "I'm not okay. You want to know? I'll tell you."

Rum sat back in the desk chair, hands folded on his knees, waiting.

"There's this man… I—I liked him a lot." She looked down at her lap, smiling a bit. "A lot. But," sh continued slowly, "it turns out he's not what I thought he was."

"Whatever do you mean?" There was less of a lilt than usual. Perhaps he couldn't be completely serious with her, but he was trying at least.

"I didn't know, but it turns out he's having an affair with someone else." Belle nodded to her own words. It hurt more to say it out loud than to think it. "So, I guess it's not really an option."

"And who is this man?" There was a glint in his eyes, one that Belle couldn't place. It seemed… dangerous? It was sweet to see him—her not-character—being protective of her. If that's what it even was.

Belle opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning. "I don't even know his first name." She laughed bitterly. "He's just… Mr. Gold."

She looked up to see Rum's reaction, but all she saw was another column of purple smoke. Wonderful.

 

* * *

 

It hit without warning in the dead of the night. The storm covered their fire and drove Charming back to his shelter. The company woke to the sound of wind in the morning. They huddled alone in their shelters throughout the day with only blankets for warmth. Outside the snow swirled and fell layer after layer, covering the land.

It only lasted a day. By the morning following, all was calm and covered snow knee-deep.

Belle looked up as the library door opened, not for someone on celebration business, but just for Killian Jones and his backpack and his guitar case. She smiled at the normalcy of it. Killian dumped his things on his usual nearby table before coming to talk to Belle at the circulation desk.

"How are we doing this morning?" Belle asked. She scanned in another book—the return pile had really built up while she had been busy preparing for the celebration.

"I've been better."

Belle set the book in her hands down and crossed her arms on the desk, leaning in. "What's wrong?"

Killian sighed. "You remember the audition I told you about? The one in Boston?"

"What about it?"

"It was scheduled for a week ago last Tuesday." He swallow, nodding, and looked down. "I couldn't get out of my apartment. And certainly not drive all the way to Boston." He breathed in an out slowly, trying to keep control on himself. Belle hopped down from her chair and came around the counter to him. She pulled him close into a hug. He rested his head on her shoulder, crumpled down over her.

"You can't reschedule?" she asked. "Surely they'd understand—"

"They already filled the spot."

"Oh." She hugged him tighter. "I'm so sorry, Killian."

"It was my one ticket out. I don't know if I'll get another."

"You will," Belle said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "I know you will. You're an amazing musician and you will get another audition and you will get out of town and don't you doubt that for one instant, Killian Jones."

He nodded, looking slightly less miserable.

"I've got a scene to write," Belle said, "between my main characters—well, the characters who decided they were the main ones—anyway, are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah." Killian nodded, taking another deep breath. "I will be." A grin came over his face. "But I'll be better if you give me the wifi password."

"Not a chance."

"It was worth a shot." He shrugged and returned to his table. Belle sat back at her desk, pulling up the document with her story in it. As she tried to calm her mind to write, she heard the gentle strumming of the guitar and Killian's soft voice.

_There_ _'s a land up in the sky,_

_It_ _'s owned by the stars and the birds passing by._

_And I want to go there, but try as I might,_

_It_ _'s too far away…_

 

* * *

 

"Rum? Rum are you here?" Belle called as softly as she could into the clearing. With a giggle he appeared from behind a tree, prancing over to her and taking her hands in his.

"You're cold, dearie."

"Well, I came to see you in three feet of snow," Belle said, laughing a little in exasperation. "What did you expect?"

"You to stay back," he replied, an eyebrow raised. "Snow this deep is a good excuse, I believe."

"I wanted to see you." Belle grinned, shivering. The cold was seeping through her boots and trousers. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea, but it was worth it.

Rum leaned in and kissed her. Warmth spread through her body, from their lips down through to the tips of her fingers and her frozen feet. When he pulled away, the warmth remained, along with the tingle of magic—a warming spell disguised as a kiss. She didn't mention how sweet she found it aloud, only smiled wider and took his hand in hers.

"You don't have to come next time," he said. "If it's this cold—"

"I can't stay away," Belle interrupted. "So you'd better be there to meet me."

"Every time."

There was something in the way he looked at her. His eyes were steady, but she could tell he was surprised by her insistence. And yet, there was something inexpressibly sad, tragic almost, as if her feelings broke his heart and healed it all at once.

"It looks like it will be a while before we return home," she said. "The snow has covered the ogres tracks."

"They aren't far," Rum said. For once, he wasn't bothering to adopt his vague dramatic flairs. Instead he spoke plainly, his eyes staring past her, troubled again.

"Could you help us find them?" Belle asked. His eyes returned to her.

"I'm afraid not. I'm not allowed."

"You're not—"

He cut her off. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

Without another word, he vanished, leaving Belle in the snow, confused, but filled with magical warmth.

 

* * *

 

The bell rang as the door to Gold's shop opened. Cora Mills stormed in, seeming to be only more annoyed by Gold's calm. Of course, she hadn't wasted any time getting her. Urgent messages had that sort of effect. One of the last powers he held over her.

"I'm busy, Gold. What is it?" she snapped.

"Mayor Mills, a pleasure as always—ah, there's no need for that." He raised his hand, stopping her from closing the blinds. They could do this in the full view of anyone. He wasn't planning on doing anything he'd be ashamed of.

"What?" Much like her daughter, Mayor Mills didn't understand when things didn't go her way.

"I only wished to discuss something," Gold said pleasantly.

"And what is that?"

"We're done." He made sure to be cold, dead certain. There was no chance of interpreting it as sarcasm or a joke.

"What?"

"Our... arrangement. It's over."

Cora laughed nervously. Then, seeing he was serious, laughed harder until she was nearly bending over in mirth.

"You think you can just declare that?" she asked through her laughter.

"I think you'll find I just did."

"And why would that be?"

"You've made your point. You've used me long enough. I'm done."

Cora nodded, turning to look at the items for sale behind the counter. She flipped over the price tag on a crystal vase. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your little dalliance with your true love, now would it?"

Gold couldn't help the sharp breath that betrayed his surprise. How could she know? He'd been careful. Beyond careful. Painfully careful.

"You didn't think I didn't know about that?" She laughed and came around the counter so she was standing right in front of him. "I've known all along, darling." With a snap of her fingers the blinds closed. "So, darling, I think that leaves us with two options," she whispered, her voice heavy, sultry in the air between them.

"Which are?" he asked stiffly. Delicately, she took his red silk tie, running her fingers over it.

"Well," she said crisply, matter-of-factly, "our... associate doesn't know about your little... pet."

Gold swallowed. He couldn't hit her. No matter what she said about him, or about Belle, he couldn't do anything. And Cora knew it. She smirked, continuing to play with his tie, pulling him closer and closer to her.

"And if he did, I don't think he'd be nearly as lenient as me. I'm sure he could think of many creative ways to make her forget you again."

"And the second option?" Gold kept his composure. It was a power game. He didn't have to let her win. He just had to keep control of himself. Cora grinned wider, opening her mouth just a bit, inches from him.

"Kiss me."

A muscle was twitching in his jaw. Oh, he so wanted to hit her. Crush her.

"I won't tell Zoso and you can have Belle for a little while longer." Cora shrugged. "If she'll have you." She pulled his tie again, her hands right at the knot.

"Oh, and darling..." she added. "Enjoy this."

He kissed her, deeply. Not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. Because it was this or Belle's life. Because no matter how much he liked to pretend he had control, Cora held all the cards. So he kissed her and tried to convince himself it wasn't so bad so that she would believe he enjoyed it. He was out of options this time. Truthfully, he'd been out of options for a long time.


	24. A Search Party or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rushing through my head, I can touch the thunder  
> Lighting up the mind as the wind blows stronger  
> Pushing back the sea as the storm is calling on  
> Louder than before in the raging river  
> Faster than the stream, will it last forever?  
> Holding back time as the world stops turning—  
> It feels like love.
> 
> ~"Feels Like Love", Asia

Belle nodded to Graeme on her way out of camp. He nodded back, giving her a tired smile. Belle was tired enough after sleeping through the night—she'd hate to have had Graeme's watch. Pulling her cloak around her, Belle hurried from the camp. Rum's warmth spell was beginning to wear off, days after he'd given it to her. Perhaps should could get another? She'd hate to ask, but it made a world of difference out in the snow—

"Looking for someone, dearie?"

Belle spun around. Rum leaned against a nearby tree, all lazy, casual. He was barely visible in the dim light of the hour just before dawn.

"Perhaps," she said. "Could you help me find him?"

"For a price." He pushed off the tree and walked towards her, looking her up and down.

"I'd pay anything," Belle said, not desperately, but simply. It was all she could do not to break the charade. He was so close, inches now.

"A kiss, perhaps?"

"Deal."

Again, Belle didn't thank him for the warming spell that came along with the kiss. Instead she only held on a little longer, kissed him a little deeper than she'd anticipated. They pulled apart slowly, clinging to each other. She wasn't cold anymore, but there was something more real about his warmth than the magic within her, so she stayed as close to him as she could as they began to walk. The snow seemed firmer under her feet and she no longer sank into it, but walked on top like Rum did.

The forest was lit with a blue glow that had become all too familiar in the past few days. But it was different with Rum there beside her. It wasn't a chore to be up so early, but a precious chance. Everything seemed clearer, more beautiful. Belle held on to Rum's arm as they walked simply to be close to him and be able to match her steps in time with his. There was a sort of closeness in that.

"Can I ask a question?" Belle asked, not because she needed permission but to gage how much of an answer she was likely to get.

"If you must." He seemed distracted—he was looking around them again and again. But it wasn't the tense sort of looking that was for possible enemies. Instead it was vaguely curious as if he was checking to make sure they were heading the right way.

"Why were you so insistent that we meet this morning?" She nudged his side to bring his attention back to her. "It doesn't usually matter to you."

He didn't respond. Only the lightest of grins pulled at his lips. He continued to walk, guiding Belle through the forest. She didn't know where they were anymore or how to return to camp. With anyone else that would have scared her. As they walked, the forest continued to lighten. If Belle's feet had sunk into the snow like usual with every step, they would have been nearly frozen solid by now.

"You're being awfully mysterious," Belle said. Her renewed attempt to prompt him into conversation didn't go any better. Still he was silent, though it seemed his grip around her arm tightened a bit. Belle squeezed his arm back.

They walked only a little while longer before Rum stopped. He looked around them several times, then smiled and started again.

He brought her out through the last of the trees into a meadow covered in snow. On the far end, there were little bumps of the trees where the forest began again. Everything in between was white. Smooth, sparkling in the dim light, snow deep enough to cover even the tops of the tall meadow grass.

Rum took off his cloak and laid it out on the snow. "Sit," he instructed. Unsure what they were doing—there wasn't much special about this particular meadow—Belle sat. Rum joined her, pulling her close against his side. She opened her mouth to ask, but Rum held up a finger.

"Watch." He pointed across the meadow to the sky above the distant trees.

The sky was deep blue as it had been for hours—no, it wasn't quite. The slightest stain of pink was visible on the horizon. One moment it was barely visible, but then after a surprised glance at Rum, it was a streak in the crease between earth and sky.

The sunrise. He'd brought her to see the sunrise. She hadn't properly seen it since she'd been on the mountaintops. And even then, only if she had third watch—by which point it was a sign that her shift was over, not something to be enjoyed. Leaning over, Belle kissed Rum's cheek softly and laid her head on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her close to his side.

There was no need for words between them as they watched the sky paint itself with color after color, growing lighter and lighter in the space of a blink. Light crept up from the horizon and beat back the darkness of night.

At some point, Belle slipped from Rum's shoulder to rest her head in his lap. She watched the sky through heavy eyes. She'd had so little time to rest in the past few days. The relentless pursuit of the ogres wore on her. To lie here with Rum, watching the sky, it was a peace like nothing else.

Her eyes grew heavier and heavier. As the sky began to truly turn its light blue color of day, Belle slipped away into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Red woke up first. The camp was empty. Everyone was in their shelters, taking refuge from the cold. Only Graeme sat beside the campfire, looking especially exhausted after half a night's watch. As much as she tried, Red couldn't sleep. She could nod off, make it through most of the night, but she never got more than a doze.

"Morning," she mumbled, taking a seat next to Graeme.

"Looks like everyone's up early this morning." He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to him. The wolf wasn't bothered as much by the cold as the rest of her was, but if she changed, she doubted sitting like this with Graeme would be an option.

"Who else is up?" She looked around, seeing no one.

"Belle got up a little while ago."

"She go to get water?"

"Or do whatever it is that she does in the forest."

Red nodded. Her head still felt fuzzy from sleep. Each moment seemed a little clearer than the last, but that was even hard to tell because it wasn't _that_ much clearer.

"Do you worry about her?" Red asked.

"About Belle?"

"Yeah." Red sighed. "She's gone all the time. She always looks sad. Or tired. Or both." She leaned her head on Graeme's shoulder.

"I do," he said after a moment. "I worry about her. It's not like her to go off on her own so much."

"Something has changed."

Graeme nodded against her head.

"I…" Red began, unsure how to ask her question. It had lingered in the back of her mind for a while, then begun to burn. "Do—do you still love her?"

Pulling back, Graeme faced her. "Not like I did," he said carefully. His eyes were intent, peering into hers, trying to piece together what she might be thinking. "I'll always love Belle, but as a friend or brother."

"Right." Red nodded. She leaned forward and added another stick to the fire.

"But Red—"

"What?" The word was sharper than she intended. It was the nerves slowly building in the pit of her stomach.

"We should talk about—"

"No." She knew what he meant. Not that conversation. Not now. She wasn't ready to talk with him about it again.

"We have to," Graeme said sternly. His face softening, he sighed. "This hunt for ogres won't last forever. We're going to return to the Castle."

"I—"

"Let me finish." He took a deep breath. "We're going to have to be convincing there. It's not going to be easy. We'll have to deal with all the politics and intrigue…" He trailed off, his distaste for the idea clear on his face. "I know we've talked about this before, but I need to know: are you happy with this?"

"With what?" she asked, only to be perfectly clear on what he meant.

"With marrying me."

The words were there, on her tongue, ready to be spoken once and for all. But her throat stopped up and suddenly she couldn't voice them anymore. She nearly tripped as she scrambled to her feet.

Graeme's hand caught her wrist.

"What is it?" he asked. Worry on his face and in his blue eyes, he stood, not letting go of her hand but instead pulling her closer to him gently.

"I—" She swallowed and took a deep breath. Looking him in the eyes, Red focused on not tripping over her words:

"I think I'm a little bit in love with you."

 

* * *

 

They should have left nearly an hour ago. But days without proper sleep had made them all sluggish. The cold didn't do them any favors either. Their bones were heavy, their muscles stiff. All, that is, except Regina. The sorceress perched lightly on a rock near the fire, drinking from her water skin with enough delicacy that it might as well have been a crystal wineglass. Around, her companions hurried to pack their shelters for the days' journey. Magic had already made short work of Regina's part—it was packed neatly on the ground beside her, waiting for everyone else to be ready.

Charming's work was also done, but unlike Regina, he was running around the campsite making sure everyone else had their things together.

"Do we have water for today?" he asked Hook.

"Yes—" The pirate caught Charming's arm before he could move off to someone else. "Where's Belle?"

His voice wasn't particularly loud, but somehow everyone heard and stopped, looking around. There was no sign of her.

"Who saw her last?" Charming demanded. "When did she leave?"

Regina watched, still and aloof as the others looked at each other without answers.

"She was up before anyone else," Graeme said. "She went off on her own." He looked around. "No one's seen her since then?"

No one had.

"Do you have any idea where she went?" Charming asked.

Graeme pointed off into the woods—in a direction that was neither where they'd come from, nor where they were headed, nor towards a stream.

"She can't have gone far," Red said. "If we start now we could catch up within a half day, probably not even that—"

"Wait," Hook said, laughing a bit. "We can't go after her. What about the ogres?"

"He's right," Snow said. "We can't let them roam unchecked. We're getting far enough south to run into villages. What if the ogres get to one of them first? We can't spare the time."

"We can't leave her either," Red snapped. "She's our friend. We don't leave friends behind."

"She's my friend too," Snow said, "but the ogres are a threat to the whole kingdom. Belle can find her way back to us."

"It's been hours, though."

"She's right," Graeme said. He glanced at Red and his eyes softened for a moment. "Our time together might be over, but I know Belle. It's not like her to leave for this long. She knows what time we break camp. There must be a reason she hasn't returned."

"You think she's hurt?" Charming asked. Regina could practically see everyone's words turning over in their leader's mind.

"It's possible," Graeme said gravely.

Charming sighed, pacing back and forth a bit. "Alright," he said after a moment. "We can't leave her. But neither can we spare much time—Graeme, how fast can you track her?"

Graeme shrugged. "Give me two hours."

"No faster?"

"Not with this much of a head start, no."

"So be it," Charming said. "Be back here in two hours."

Graeme picked up his bow and quiver from his pack and slung them over his shoulder, nodding at the prince.

"No!" Red grabbed Graeme's arm. "Let me come with you. I can help. It's not safe for one."

Gently, Graeme removed her hands, holding them gently as if they were precious to him. "I'll go faster alone," he said softly. "And there's got to be someone here to come after me if I don't return."

"You will return," she insisted.

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

Jaw tight, Red nodded and stepped back, watching him disappear into the forest. Regina watched them both, careful to keep from her face the fascination at the new feelings written in both their actions.

 

* * *

 

Belle awoke to the small tugs of scaled hands in her hair. She was warm and the motion was soothing. She felt light, more rested than she had been in weeks. It was no rude awakening to cold and dim pre-dawn marching, but a natural one into comfort.

She opened her eyes. Above her was Rum's face. He was looking not at her, but out at the sky on the other side of the meadow.

The meadow.

Belle sat up sharply, nearly hitting Rum in her hurry.

"Sweetheart, what is it?" Rum asked.

"How long did I sleep?" she demanded in a gasp.

Rum shrugged, unconcerned. "A few hours. You were exhausted—what's wrong?"

"The others." She scrambled to her feet. "I have to get back. They must be worried sick—how could I fall asleep? Of all the _stupid_ things to do—"

"Belle," Rum said, taking her hand in his. He looked straight in her eyes, trying to calm her. "Belle."

"Yes?" She met his eyes. They were steady, serious. She took a deep breath. He nodded. And another breath.

"I'll take you back to your camp."

Belle nodded and Rum dropped one of her hands so they could walk side by side from the meadow. No doubt the company would have left by now. She would have to track them from last night's camp. Her tracking skills were rusty, but they would have to do. Hopefully someone would have taken care to leave her a sign of their direction.

Rum led her through the forest slower than she would have liked—though she realized running wasn't much of an option with the snow so deep. How could she have slept? Sure, she was exhausted. They all were. After being ready for home, they'd had to suddenly find a second wind to keep going faster than before. It was no excuse for her actions though. She had to be careful. Falling asleep in camp was understandable, but out in the woods? Supposedly alone? That was downright reckless and opened up the way for all sorts of questions Belle didn't want to answer.

They came to the edge of camp and Belle began to walk faster. Fear tightened within her. Even though she knew her comrades must be long gone, some part of her still hoped they would not leave without her.

Just before she reached the clearing, Rum caught her wrist and pulled her back to him.

"Not so fast, dearie," he said, gathering her in his arms. He kissed her lips gently. "I'll watch from a distance to make sure you find them safely."

"You can't come with?" Surely there was no harm in him following her into an empty camp.

"It's too dangerous," he said. His voice was gentle with her—when had he lost the cruel sarcasm around her? Belle couldn't recall the moment. "I will stay close."

Belle nodded, then gave him a long kiss, a soft one, one that she would have loved to lose herself in.

"What was that for?" Rum asked softly when she pulled away.

"This morning. Thank you."

He nodded and opened his arms so she could step away. Letting her eyes linger on him until the last possible moment, Belle took off towards the camp. Already she felt bad for snapping at him when she woke. The morning had been lovely, if a little too long. At least he hadn't seemed to be hurt by her distress.

Belle ran into camp and stopped short.

"Snow?"

Her friend stood along in the center of camp, holding a bow pointed straight at Belle's chest.

"Belle!" Snow set the weapon down and ran to her, throwing her arms around the smaller woman. "You're alright. What happened? We've been so worried—"

"I'm fine," Belle said, stepping out of the embrace to look Snow over. "Why—what are you doing h—where is everyone?"

"Out looking for you, of course."

"What?"

"You didn't return this morning, so Graeme went out to get you and then he didn't come back either so everyone else went out searching," Snow explained quickly. "But where have you been? What happened?"

"I lost track of time…" Belle murmured, still sorting through Snow's story. Missing… Graeme… searching… _Graeme_. "Graeme is missing?" she demanded.

Snow nodded. "He went out looking and never came back. The rest are searching for both of you."

Hurrying to her pack, Belle took out her sword. She didn't use it often, but was skilled and could easily manage if necessary.

"I have to go after him," Belle said. There was no way he would have been able to track her. Rum had made sure of that. He would be lost in the forest, unable to find his way back, magic confusing his path.

"No!" Snow took the sword from her. "You can't. The others are already looking."

"I'll join them. You can tell the others I'm safe when they return."

"And what if you get lost again?" Snow demanded. "You can't go alone. And I can't leave camp. Someone has to be waiting here when the others return."

Belle bit the inside of her lip, focusing on the pinch of it to calm herself. Snow was right. They were looking for, so she shouldn't go off on her own again. But it was so unlike Graeme to get lost or not return. He could be hurt. Something must have gone wrong. It was the only explanation. All Belle wanted to do was go to his aid, as impractical as that wish was.

"Graeme will be alright," Snow said, taking a deep breath. Of course. Belle had nearly forgotten she wasn't the only one worried for him. He was Snow's brother.

Belle nodded. "Of course he will."

"And someone has to be here in case he turns up on his own," Snow said. She pasted a smile on her face to cheer the both of them up—not that it worked in the slightest.

"So we wait?" Belle asked.

"We wait." Snow nodded and sat down next to the fire, leaving a place for Belle to join her.

 

* * *

 

Belle tried to focus best she could in the crowded diner. After days of taking her lunch in the library while putting the place back together, she'd finally ventured out of hiding. Well, she'd actually been invited to get lunch with Mary Margaret and Ruby, but it felt like coming out of hiding. It had been far too long since she'd seen her friends long enough to talk. As usual, Mary Margaret was running late, so Ruby was still at the counter—Granny allowed her a break, but not before it was necessary. Belle was left alone in her booth to write.

It was harder and harder to write with distractions around. At the beginning of the story, it had been easy to disappear into it anywhere and everywhere. All she needed was a notebook and a pen. Now she needed silence and stillness and a cup of coffee or tea. She couldn't be too cold or too warm. Everything had to be just perfect. The problem was, things were rarely perfect.

Sighing, Belle took another sip of her tea and forced her pen to paper. Whether it was difficult or not, the story within her begging to be told. She might not be passionate about the words themselves, but the story was exciting. Hold onto the story, she told herself. She just had to grit her teeth and tell it.

Mary Margaret slid into the seat across from Belle a little while later, closely followed by Ruby.

"Sorry guys," Mary Margaret said. "I hadn't seen David in days and he showed up just before the end of my last class—"

"It's fine," Belle assured her. "You're on a tighter schedule than we are."

"David's not the only one busy cleaning up after the storm," Ruby grumbled. Belle gave her a sympathetic look. "It's only been three days," Ruby admitted. "That's enough to miss him, right?"

"Of course it is," Mary Margaret said as Belle tried to contain her grin. It was unlike Ruby to be so attached to someone. Usually her relationships were about the time they were together—Ruby didn't miss them and assumed they didn't miss her either. It seemed Graham was different.

Ruby glanced over at the counter, then added, "And Granny's working me harder than ever. Some people still have no power, so they're staying in here and eating in the diner."

Mary Margaret nodded. "That was one nasty storm."

"It was." Belle's days were now, in her memory, a single block of confusion and darkness. Her dream melded with the memories of the sound of the storm and the inability to write that had followed her around her increasingly messy and lonely apartment for those days.

"What about you, Belle?" Mary Margaret asked. "How have you been?"

"The library's nearly back in order. I'm taking it slowly. Other than that… I'm writing. That's all." It wasn't all though. But neither could she say that she'd been visited each day by her character. That they met in secret and talked and laughed together. Rum had been downright pleasant in the past few days. And all over the place. It seemed every time she had a minute alone he showed up.

"Have you talked with Mr. Gold at all?"

Belle shook her head. "Not yet."

"Belle—" Ruby started, but Mary Margaret laid a hand on her arm to cut her complaint off.

"It's her decision. Are you going to talk to him eventually?" She was all sympathy and concern.

"I don't know. Maybe." Belle shrugged. She had no idea. She was still hurt. Of course, she had no right to be hurt, but it wasn't exactly a rational feeling that she could reason away. It was something deeper than that, almost subconscious. So like it or not, she couldn't speak to him. Not when she had no grounds to do so.

 

* * *

 

Red continued to pace back and forth in front of the fire. Snow and Belle had already asked her to please sit down several times, but she couldn't help it. It had been hours since she and Charming had returned to camp without a sign of Graeme or Belle. At least the latter was safe.

But what about Graeme? He could be anywhere. They'd hoped to find him back at camp when they returned. They'd scoured every part of the forest he could have conceivably reached. There was no sign of him.

"Red," Snow called. "Come eat something."

"Not hungry."

It was nearing nightfall. The winter sun was already sinking towards the horizon. Graeme had been gone all day. All day. He could have been hurt. Red's mind jumped to the worst scenarios first. She couldn't help it. The wolf in her ached to come out and run. To sniff out the trail. But they'd already tried that. Her muscles were sore from transforming again and again. Track a little, report back to Charming, track some more. She couldn't transform again tonight, no matter how much the wolf wanted to.

Sounds of heavy footsteps on snow came from the forest. The company went still, Snow carefully drawing her bow from her side, Charming sliding his sword from its sheath.

"Don't shoot!" Hook called, coming into the clearing with his hand raised above his head. Regina followed a pace behind, rolling her eyes at him. Red's breath caught as she waited a beat, then another, and another.

"Graeme?" Charming asked.

Regina and Hook looked at each other. "It's a bit of a tale, mate," Hook said. "We'd best be seated."

Snow handed bowls of food to them as they sat. Red accepted hers with shaking hands. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her. The worry and uncertainty about Graeme was replaced with nerves to hear the story, but the adrenaline was gone. It slipped away and left her to truly feel for the first time the ache of the transformations and the day spent running in the snowy forest.

The first bite did little to help her shaking. Belle moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Red nodded her thanks and tried to eat again without spilling it all over herself.

Hook ate eagerly, leaving Regina to tell the story.

"We found his trail midmorning," she said. "It was headed in the direction he'd indicated Belle went, but there was no sign of her tracks. We followed his trail for an hour or so." She sighed. "There were signs of a struggle. Blood on the snow and trees…"

Red's breath caught in her throat. Regina looked around at everyone before continuing.

"There were ogres' track leading from the scene. We followed them—there was no body, so we hoped we'd be able to catch up. It looked like there were maybe a half dozen of them. He didn't stand a chance of escaping."

"Did you find him?" Charming asked. Snow's hand gripped his tightly, her knuckles bone white.

"Aye," Hook said, grinning. "But that's where it gets interesting. You see, the ogres didn't kill him. They dragged him alive and whole."

"We caught up with them a few hours ago," Regina said, sounding vaguely annoyed by Hook's excitement. "They must have been waiting in that clearing a while, but we were able to sneak up on them. They were joined by another group of ogres. They had a small argument about what to do with their prisoner, but they decided it would be best to take him to 'Zoso's camp' in the main pass."

"And Graeme?" Red asked.

"He was unconscious," Regina said. "But otherwise unharmed."

"Who is this Zoso?" Charming asked.

"Couldn't tell you," Hook said. "But it seems he's got all the ogres reporting to him."

Charming nodded, taking the news in. Though most of Red was torn between worry over Graeme and relief that he was alive, even she knew this was more than just Graeme. The ogres had a leader. That had never happened before.


	25. A Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snakes in the grass beneath our feet,  
> Rain in the clouds above  
> Some moments last forever  
> But some flare out with love, love, love  
> ~"Love, Love, Love" The Mountain Goats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for the ridiculous wait. I could list reasons--and will upon request--but won't take the time here. Thank you to elli.O. for her amazing commitment to keep with this story and all my gratitude to anyone who's still around to read this story.

Belle was convinced her story was taking over her mind. Not that it hadn't been before, to some extent. But her real life had taken first priority what with the library's anniversary. And also her issues with Mr. Gold. And her interest in Ruby's possible relationship with Graham. Now all that was either done with or settled (in a way), and her mind was free to fall back into the fictional world she had created.

She couldn't stop writing. The story was always in her mind, playing itself out whether or not she was writing it down. Sure, the action seemed to be picking up, but it was more than that. It was the irresistible urge she'd felt the night she first had the idea, and then again when she'd given in to following her characters' lead. (She wasn't sure what they were up to either. Hunting for Graeme seemed to be counterproductive to tracking ogres.)

It was nice, telling a story where she didn't know what was coming next. Every page was an adventure. Each word came to her as she needed it, not before. Even the name of this new character—Zoso—hadn't been planned. And really, Zoso? What sort of a name was that? It was the only one that seemed to fit.

"Writing again, dearie?"

Belle spun around in her swivel chair. Rum was stretched out on the couch, somehow managing to sink into the cushions with elegant poise.

"What else would you expect me to do?" she asked.

"No more parties to plan? People to deal with? Work to do?"

Belle grinned. "Not anymore. It's just me and my story."

"And how goes the writing?"

"It's good." She leaned back into her chair, swiveling back and forth a bit. She was comfortable around Rum now. It was easy forget she was imagining him. He seemed as real as anything else. And he was easy to talk to—like a best friend she'd known for years and years. "I have a new character."

Rum looked interested. "And this would be?"

"A new villain. Apparently the ogres have a leader. His name is Zoso and he's captured Graeme—" She broke off as Rum's face darkened. "Rum? Are you okay?" Perhaps she shouldn't tell him about his own story. It had never been a problem before though…

"I…" he started. "I have to go."

Then he was gone in a cloud of smoke. Typical. Belle rolled her eyes. She was more than used to his dramatics by now. She turned back to her story and began to write again.

 

* * *

 

"…mission is straightforward. In and out. That's all. We can gather intelligence later, but Graeme is our priority now." Charming looked around at the rest of them. Everyone looked grim, much like Belle felt. "Alright. Let's get moving."

They split off into the dark woods. After a day of tracking, they'd caught up with the ogres who had Graeme. Red was sure of it and they all knew better than to question the wolf's scent. They were lucky—he was being held in a temporary camp at the base of the mountains. If the ogres had reached the pass, there wouldn't have been a chance of rescuing Graeme. But here, they still had a chance.

Belle and Regina darted through the woods as quickly and silently as they could. The others had gone in the other direction to create a diversion—Red's howls and the explosives Hook had procured from his pack should be enough to draw the ogres' attention.

As they drew closer to the camp, the stench grew. The firelight was dark and red—hot enough to cook with and prevent freezing. The ogres didn't need the light. The glowing coals cast harsh shadows on the crude tents. There were enough for three dozen or so, perhaps more, depending on how particular ogres were about personal space. They didn't seem to care much—at least a dozen were squeezed around the nearest of the fires.

In the distance, a wolf howled, followed closely by the ear-shattering sound of a bomb exploding. Their cue.

As expected, the ogres took off in the direction of the sound. More poured from the tents to join the hunt until the entire camp seemed clear. Thank goodness ogres weren't known for their intelligence. Belle nodded to Regina, who returned the gesture. Hunched over, they crept towards the nearest of the tents.

Belle pressed herself up against the canvas. Ogres might be blind, but they were known to keep guard dogs. It wouldn't do to be noticed by one of those. She crept to the edge of the tent and squinted, peering to the camp's dim shadows, scanning for moment. No ogres. No pack of dogs breaking into the firelight. She took a breath and nodded to Regina, who darted around her and to the next tent. Belle followed close on her heels as they sprinted from shadow to shadow, steadily making their way to a small, sagging shelter in the middle of the camp. The crunching of their feet in the patches of snow grated against Belle's nerves. _Hurry, hurry, before they come back_ _…_

Regina dropped to her knees as soon as they reached the tent and took a knife from her belt, cutting into the canvas. It was slow work, offset by the continued howls and explosions and grunting shouts from the woods around them. Regina's breath was harsh as she dragged the knife back and forth, sawing into the thick material.

"Hurry," Belle whispered. She turned and pressed her back to the canvas, eyes tracing the edge of the camp. She only hoped this was the right tent. Red said it would be.

"I'm hurrying," Regina whispered back. She jerked the knife through the last bit of canvas, leaving a flap big enough to crawl through. She went first without glancing back at Belle, who practically shoved her inside and tumbled after. "Graeme," she was already whispering. "Graeme?"

The inside smelled even worse than the outside. It was pitch black and the ground was a mix of mud, half-melted ice, and straw. With a quick spell, Regina created a small fire that she could hold in her hand—

There he was. Graeme. He was lying on the ground, hands and feet bound. His clothes were torn—the frayed rips bloody—and he was curled in on himself, eyes clenched shut. He didn't seem to have any serious injuries, but it was too dark to tell much. With a sharp gasp, Belle hurried to his side. She cut through the ropes around his hands while Regina worked on the ones around his ankles. His skin was chaffed beneath the coarse bonds. Their touch woke him. His eyes opened blearily and he groaned.

"Shhh," Belle said. "We'll have you out of here in no time."

Another explosion. Closer, and followed by the ogres' yells.

"Where am I?" he mumbled, more coherent with each word.

"It's alright," Belle whispered. "You're—"

"You were captured by ogres," Regina hissed. "We came after you and the others are creating a diversion so we can get you out. So if you would kindly _shut the hell up_ we might have a chance of success here."

She pulled the remaining rope off Graeme's legs and hurried to the back of the tent. Belle helped Graeme to his feet, looking him over for possible injuries.

"Can you run?" she asked. He nodded tersely.

"Listen—" he said, "I overheard them talking. There's more to this than—"

"All's clear," Regina whispered. Belle nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. There hadn't been any explosions for a while. Or any howls.

"Let's go."

They broke out of the tent and into the firelight, which suddenly seemed too bright. Belle heard Graeme take a deep lungful of the sharp, fresh night air. It was either out of relief or pain. She automatically pulled his arm around her shoulder and let him lean on her, and together they forced themselves into a stumbling trot to the tree line.

Only to be followed by the sound of dogs.

They froze for a moment, Regina spinning around and looking Belle in the eye. For a moment Belle thought she'd see a spark of power in the Sorceress' eyes, a plan forming. But there was only the same terror she herself felt.

And they ran.

Every footstep was unsteady in the slick and muddy snow. They reached the cover of the trees and tore deep into the forest. Branches clawed at them and trees seemed to appear from nowhere into their path. A roar of anger and alarm filled the trees and Belle knew in an instant that the dogs had bee joined by their masters. The heavy footfalls of the ogres thundered behind them.

Regina lead the way, a small purple light in her hand pushing back the night. They could only see a few steps ahead, but that was enough. Graeme was still leaning on Belle. It was hard to tell if it was from fatigue or some hidden injury. His usual steady stride was halting and uneven. Her fingers were numb, one hand from holding his arm around her shoulders, the other from her death grip on the back of his shirt. Her foot caught on a stone and he dropped in the dirt for a moment, but they were still running. At times she couldn't tell who was dragging who.

Still the ogres gained on them. The forest seemed never ending. There was no light from the moon, no sign they could break out from the shadows. Surely they must be close to the stream by now. Once they crossed it the dogs would lose their scent. The rest of the company would be nearby and then Hook and Charming would hoist Graeme between them and they'd all be off, safe and sound.

Instead, the howling and the shouts of the pack behind them drowned out everything else. Belle was only aware of the sense that the hunters were getting faster and the prey was slowing down. Each of Graeme's breaths caught in his throat raggedly. She heard the beginnings of a moan, over and over, but he always managed to cut it short.

A tree root came out of nowhere, tripping Graeme. Belle's grip broke and he fell to his hands and knees. Her momentum carried her forward and she skid in the slush, turning back to reach him. "Regina," she hissed over her shoulder, "wait!"

"We don't have time for this," Regina snapped.

Graeme didn't take Belle's outstretched hand. "They want me," he said, gasping. He pulled himself to his feet. "You go on. They'll stop looking once they have me."

"No! We're not leaving you," Belle said. The barks of the dogs were only yards off to the left.

"You have to. We can't outrun them."

"Graeme—"

"I'm sorry, Belle," he said, his hand coming to cover her cheek, an achingly familiar gesture. "I loved you."

He leaned down and kissed her, the briefest of chaste kisses, the sort that ended too quickly and left her head spinning in confusion.

"Farewell. Godspeed," he said, then turned and ran back towards the ogres' camp.

"Graeme! No!" Belle shouted after him. "Grae—" Regina's hand slapped over her mouth.

"Silence, you fool!" she hissed. "You'll get us all killed!"

Seizing Belle's arm, Regina dragged her through the trees. The forest quieted as they went, the ogres' yells fading into the distance. Yells of delight. They'd found him. Of course they found him.

Belle couldn't think. It was as if her mind had stopped with the kiss and the only word she knew was "farewell". Farewell, farewell. He was gone. He'd gone back. They'd failed. The ogres would kill him for sure.

They found the stream nearly a quarter of an hour later. Graeme had been right. There was no way they'd have made it with the ogres on their heels.

Once across the stream, it wasn't far to the rendezvous spot. Regina had to drag Belle the whole way there—not because she was resisting but because she found herself incapable of independent movement.

The others were there waiting. Regina accepted Hook's offer of his flask and took a long draught, leaning back against a tree.

"Where's Graeme?" Red asked.

Regina shook her head. Belle closed her eyes and took a deep breath. With surprise she realized that her face was wet with tears.

"He—he went back," Belle said, her voice broken. "They were gaining on us. He went back to draw them off."

"He's gone?" Snow gasped.

Belle nodded. Regina took another gulp from Hook's flask.

"How could you?" Red cried. "How could you let him go back? You were supposed to save him!"

"I didn't have a choice!" Belle shouted back. "He left! There was nothing we could do."

Nothing. There was nothing. With a heaving sob, Belle turned and ran back into the forest. Anything to get away.

 

* * *

 

An outing to Granny's for dinner wasn't so bad. Not after a full day of writing. Friday nights at Granny's were always interesting. Most of the town showed up, especially on nights Killian was playing. It had been a while since he'd performed—losing the audition had really gotten him down—so having written today or not, Belle felt like she should be there for her friend.

As expected, the diner was nearly full when she got there. The sudden warmth and noise was a shock from the cold, silent streets. Belle made her way to the table next to where Killian was tuning his guitar.

"Hey there," he said. "Come to see me play, love?"

"No, I came for the food and company."

"Explains why you're sitting alone, then."

"Nice to see you too." Belle grinned, fighting the urge to pull her notebook from her bag as Killian sat back up on his stool next to the microphone to finish tuning. The diner quieted a little when Killian tapped the microphone.

"Now that I'm tuned, let's get started," he said. Someone whistled from near the door. Killian grinned and gave them a nod. "To begin with, here's a song I've only recently learned. Hope you enjoy."

With a grin he sat back and began to strum—it was a heavy, low rhythm. " _King Saul fell on his sword when it all went wrong. And Joseph_ _'s brothers sold him down the river for a song. And Sonny Liston rubbed some tiger balm into his glove. Some things you do for money and some you do for love, love, love._ "

Belle watched her friend play with a smile on her face. It was good to see him playing, learning new music. He hadn't given up hope yet. Even though he sometimes sounded like he had, Killian Jones never stopped playing. One day he'd get out of Storybrooke, she knew. One day.

Graham sat down across from her midway through Killian's third song.

"You alright?" Belle asked. He looked a little worried. She turned, and sure enough, Regina stood at the counter, looking rather put out.

"I'm fine," Graham said, taking a sip of the coke he'd brought with him.

"Doesn't she know you have a girlfriend now?" Belle asked.

"That doesn't seem to be a problem." Graham shrugged. "I thought it would be best if I left before Ruby started throwing punches."

Belle smiled. Ruby was definitely the protective girlfriend. That annoyed some guys, but it looked like it was in Graham's best interest.

"You sure you can't just fire her?"

"I wish." He made a face. "But Madame Mayor hired her to begin with, so it's out my hands."

"Too bad."

"Tell me about it. She's a nightmare."

Belle glanced back at Regina. It was as if her good side had been stolen or buried. If it weren't for years of evidence, Belle wouldn't have believed a person could be so disagreeable.

"It's not just you," Belle reassured Graham. "She's horrible to everyone."

"Yes, well, it seems you've scared her off."

She turned just in time to see Regina leave the diner—only to be passed by Belle's least favorite people: her father and Geoffrey.

"Damn it," Belle muttered. "Sorry to leave so quickly, but I have to go."

Graham nodded, not needing explanation. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"Anytime. Just make sure they don't follow me, will you?"

He nodded. Belle gathered her bag and coat, then slipped around behind Killian towards the back entrance of the diner. Thank goodness she was so short. It was no trouble to blend in with the rest of the crowd. She nodded to Granny as she passed, hurrying out of the diner into the alley.

The back door shut behind her and she sighed in relief. Another reason she didn't go in public much—it was possible to run into people she'd rather avoid. Killian would understand that she had to leave. No harm done. At least she could get some more writing done this way.

She pulled on her coat with some difficulty—she didn't want to set her bag down on the snowy alley street. Once it was buttoned, she returned to the main street. The cold wasn't so bad now. After the bitter cold of the snowstorm, things had mellowed out. It was still cold enough to need a coat, but her face didn't feel like it was being pricked with a thousand needles merely from walking down the street.

Her route took her past the Pawn Shop, as always. The lights were on. It had been a while since she'd passed it in the dark. It was easy to ignore in daylight—it took effort to see inside. But in the dark, the light glowed within, begging her eyes to look. She shouldn't. If she did and he wasn't… alone… her heart couldn't take it. All the same, as she walked past her eyes betrayed her, sneaking a glance.

Mr. Gold was in there, wiping down one of the counters. It could have been any night. Any night before all this had happened, like months ago, back when a glance meant something and took all her courage to risk. She looked away and hurried on, for once hoping he hadn't seen her there.

 

* * *

 

The woods were silent. Belle didn't know how far she'd run, only that once she couldn't go any farther, she'd collapsed against the foot of a tree and let the tears fall freely.

"Belle? Sweetheart?"

The snow crunched under the weight as Rum dropped to his knees in front of her. He took her hands in his and held them gently. Belle sniffled. The worst of her tears had passed. She didn't have any more.

"It's my fault," she whispered. Her eyes couldn't focus on him. All she could see was Graeme's retreating back and the look on his face before he'd kissed her. "I should have stopped him. We should have run faster. Hell, I shouldn't have even gone out that morning. None of this would have happened if it weren't for me." Her words came quickly, tumbling and spilling over each other in a steady flow without pausing for inflection or thought. "They're going to kill him. Because of me. It's all my fault. If only…"

But was there really any 'if only'? Was there something she could have done? The words came unbidden to her mind, stopped before they reached her lips:

_If only I hadn_ _'t stopped loving him and started loving you._

"Sweetheart," Rum said softly, reaching up to wipe away her tears. "There's nothing that could have been done. You can't blame yourself. He chose to go back."

"You saw?"

"From too great a distance to help."

"He went back for me." Belle took a sharp breath. "He shouldn't have."

"You cannot begrudge him his sacrifice," Rum said. "Don't dishonor it with that."

Belle nodded, swallowing.

"Will you rejoin your friends?" Rum asked. "They'll worry about you."

"I should." She didn't want to. She didn't want to go through what had happened again. She didn't want to face Red. Neither did she have any other real choice. "Walk with me?" she asked.

"Of course, dearest." Rum helped her stand and linked her arm through his so she walked right beside him, arms entwined and hands clasped at the end.

"I supposed this means we'll have to go after him," Belle said as they walked. "Up to the main pass."

"Zoso's camp."

Belle gave him a curious glance. "You know?"

"I know much."

"Fine," she said, unable to keep a small, watery smile off her face. "Be mysterious if you like."

"You shouldn't go there," he said. "Zoso is more dangerous than you could possibly imagine."

"Then we can't very well leave Graeme to his mercy, can we?"

Rum only sighed. Belle didn't press for details. She wouldn't get any. But she took his warning to heart. Yes, they had to rescue Graeme, one way or another. They would just have to be cautious. Tears threatened to overwhelm her once more as she imagined Graeme tied up once again as they'd found him. She swallowed them, cursing her fragile emotions, and leaned into Rum's side as they walked, taking comfort in his presence beside her.

 

* * *

 

It seemed that the universe was conspiring against her. Belle wanted nothing more than to write. The story seemed to burn in her mind at times with urgency to be written. Yet, there was always another distraction. Always something else that needed to be done. Always another situation that had to be dealt with _now_ , not once she was done writing for the day. What should have taken her days to write had ended up stretching out over two weeks. It was maddening.

Finally, she'd managed to find a free evening to write. A Wednesday, nothing special. And the one day when no one needed anything from her. She'd finished up at the library and came home to her quiet apartment without stopping at Granny's or anywhere that put her in the possibility of meeting someone.

Belle snuggled into her couch, laptop perched on her crossed legs, and took a deep breath. Here it went.

Slipping back into the story was easier than expected. The characters moved and spoke almost on their own. Their familiar presence was comforting. She let the story take her along from the morning after Graeme's failed rescue.

"Writing again, are we?" a voice came from over her shoulder. Belle jumped, nearly knocking the laptop to the floor. "It's been a while. I almost thought you'd forgotten about us."

"Of course I couldn't forget you," Belle said. Rum jumped lightly over the back of the couch to sit opposite her. "I've been busy."

"Even too busy to walk past for a glance?" he asked, waving his arms along with his words. Belle couldn't help but grin. It had been too long since he'd done that. "It's been nearly two weeks since you last took that route."

"What do you mean?" she laughed. "I don't—you're always here whether I want you to be or not."

He laughed, but there was an odd ring to it, as if it was forced. "Of course I am. You can't get rid of me, dearie."

"But I don't—"

"It's nothing," he trilled. "Nothing at all." He stood and bowed. "Now, you have a story to write, and I have business elsewhere. I'll leave you be."

"Rum—" she started, but he didn't wait to listen before he was engulfed in purple smoke and then gone. Belle frowned. It was normal for him not to make much sense, but even for him this was confusing. Unfortunately, he was right. She had a story to write. Seemed Rum's odd behavior would have to be puzzled out later.


	26. An Alternate Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another hero, another mindless crime  
> Behind the curtain, in the pantomime,  
> Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore…  
> The show must go on,  
> The show must go on.  
> Inside my heart is breaking,  
> My make-up may be flaking,  
> But my smile still stays on.  
> Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance  
> Another heartache, another failed romance  
> On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?  
> ~"The Show Must Go On", Queen

Belle woke to the dawn. It was an odd feeling, as if she'd slept deeply for years instead of hours. She felt both heavy and light all at once as the sleep fell slowly from her mind.

Graeme.

The memories of the night before overwhelmed her. The grey morning no longer seemed peaceful, but rather dead and filled with the limp, deflated tensions that had been so real in the darkness.

Crawling from her shelter, Belle shivered in the cold morning air. The others were already awake, seated around the campfire.

"Our only choice is to go up to the main pass," Charming was saying. Snow gave Belle a smile and a bowl of last night's stew. "There will be more guards than ever at this camp. Our only hope is that the main camp isn't as watchful."

"Will we even have a chance there?" Regina asked. "This isn't a pleasure stroll you're proposing. By all likelihood, they're taking him to the ogres' main camp. The largest concentration of them anywhere."

"It's suicide," Hook said, looking rather pleased with himself for the summary.

"What other choice do we have?" Red snapped. "We're not abandoning him."

"No one ever considered that," Snow said. "But Regina's right. Another rescue attempt isn't going to work. We only really had one chance at that."

"Then what?" Red asked. "Are we going to hire a genie and wish him out?"

"You know where to hire a genie?" Hook asked eagerly. Regina slapped his arm. He rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"What about their leader?" Belle asked. "Zoso. That's not exactly an ogre-ish name. Maybe we can negotiate with him."

"Or he's just a strange ogre." Red rolled her eyes. "And then we'll get eaten for suggesting it. We can't negotiate with the ogres. It's been tried. Why do you think we're still fighting this war?"

"I know why we're fighting the war," Belle snapped. "This is different. The whole situation is off. When have ogres ever had a leader? Or taken prisoners? Or moved in squads and worked together? Something's going on here. And it's not an ogre." She couldn't mention the look on Rum's face when he'd said Zoso's name. If even the Dark One, the Sorcerer, feared this Zoso, he was no ogre. And not someone to be trifled with.

Charming sighed. He looked weary. As if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. Rather, it was the weight of one man's life—a heavy burden indeed. Snow laid her hand on his back, worry on her face, both for her husband and her brother. Belle bit her lip. She hadn't meant to snap. Arguing wouldn't do them any good.

"Either way, we need to get to the pass," he said. "We can scout things out when we get there and decide then." He looked from Red to Belle, both of whom nodded. "We leave within the hour," he said and stood, taking his wife's hand. "Be ready then."

 

* * *

 

Their march went slowly. There was something odd to walking with only six. They were lopsided without Graeme. It wasn't that there was a set formation with a hole in it because of his absence, but rather that now they fit evenly two by two. It was too neat.

The main pass was much farther west along the northern mountain range than they'd scouted. It was close enough to the main troops of King George's army that other patrols were expected to cover it. It was quite the distance from their original trail. They followed the ogres' tracks along the base of the foothills. It seemed they were heading for the road that would take them up the mountains to the pass.

Belle trudged along. It had been weeks since she'd walked with Graeme by her side, but still she missed his presence. The way he'd quietly scout ahead. The way he'd fall to the back if one of the others was tired to make sure they were not left in the dust. The way he didn't speak much, but would occasionally make a soft comment or joke to make the journey that much brighter. Funny how she didn't miss it nearly as much as she did now that it was gone.

Red came up to walk beside her mid afternoon. A light snow had begun to fall, just enough to make the company pull the hoods of their cloaks up over their heads and faces. It was a while before Red spoke, softly, not looking directly at Belle.

"Look, Belle, I'm sorry," she said. "It was unfair of me to speak like that last night."

"You care for him, I understand," Belle replied. "I feel the same way."

"I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"It's alright." Belle met Red's eyes with a smile. Red returned it tentatively. "I keep going over it in my head," Belle said. "What I could have done differently. If there was any way I could have saved him."

"We'll get him back. For you, for Snow, for me. We will."

Belle laughed sadly. "I only wish I could believe—"

"HALT!"

Belle spun around. They were surrounded by archers in brown, hooded cloaks. They dropped from trees and came out of the thickets, about a dozen of them.

"Drop your weapons! Put your hands in the air!" The speaker came forward along with one of his men. "Do it now!"

Charming nodded and unbuckled his sheath from his belt. It fell to the hard ground with a thud. Snow followed suit with her bow and Regina with her blade. Belle and Red took their knives and bows from their belts and carefully set them down, their eyes never leaving the archers and the arrows aimed at their hearts.

Disarmed, Belle looked slowly around. The archers were all cloaked and hooded. It was impossible to tell who they might be. Then again, Belle considered, it wasn't unfair. The company's hoods and cloaks concealed their identities as well.

"Hurry up," the leader snapped. Hook had accumulated a small pile of weaponry on the ground around him. Belle could count at least six knives, two pistols, a hatchet, and what looked like several fist-size bombs.

"Going fast as I can, mate." From beneath his coat he took a miniature scimitar and set it down with the rest, taking his time to do so. "Think that's all of it."

"Who are you?" Charming demanded.

"I think I should be asking you that question, knave," the man said. "This land is forbidden to civilians. And all the more to ruffians and pirates."

Belle thanked God and everything that was good in this world that Hook held his tongue at that moment.

Charming motioned for them all to remove their hoods.

"Prince James of Firthana, at your service," he said. "And who might you be?"

The man dropped to his knees and pulled of his hood. His men lowered their weapons and did the same, revealing the figure next to him to be a golden-haired woman. "Your highness," he said, "apologies. I didn't realize—"

"All is well," Charming said. "Your name, sir."

"Sir Frederick," the man said. "And with me, my intended—"

"Princess Abigail," Snow finished, a grin growing on her face. She reached down to help the woman to her feet.

"Snow!" Abigail exclaimed. The two women embraced. "It's been too long."

"What brings you here?" Frederick asked. He picked up Snow's quiver from the ground and handed it to her. Charming stooped to pick up his sword.

"One of my men was captured by a band of ogres headed for the mountain pass."

Frederick nodded, his face turning grave. "My company was headed there ourselves. There have been reports of suspicious ogre behavior in the area. We were sent to gather intelligence after we captured one of the humans with them."

"You are welcome to join us, then," Charming said. "The more men we have, the better."

"Of course, Your Highness," Frederick said. "It's good to see you again."

"And the same to you." Charming looked around tersely, making sure the companies were ready to depart. "We have some time before dark, let's continue."

 

* * *

 

It was another two days' march to the road up to the pass, and another day before they neared the ogres' encampment. The days were decent enough. Frederick and Abigail's company was pleasant, but it was no replacement for Graeme and disrupted the company's usual patterns. For the first time, Belle truly appreciated the privilege she enjoyed as part of the Prince's elite. She was used to far less rules and much more in the way of teasing and joking. It rather sealed it for her: she was a librarian at heart, not a soldier.

The chance meeting seemed to be good for Snow and Charming though. They welcomed the news from the front and the chance to pass time with their old friends. Really, the one left out was Hook. All Frederick and Abigail's men knew his reputation—he was a pirate, a condemned man on technical pardon. They were good soldiers. A pirate was beneath them.

Once up in the pass, they made camp off the road, a few miles down hill from the top. Red went with some of Frederick's men to scout the enemy's territory just over the ridge. "It's enormous," Red said once they returned, taking a seat with the others around the fire. "I've never seen so many ogres gathered in one place. And it's not just a bunch of them squatting—it's a full army encampment."

"Is there any chance of pulling off a rescue?" Snow asked.

"Not unless we can turn into ghosts or the like," Red said. "It's not just ogres. There are a good number of humans there too. And dogs. Even if he was being kept on the outskirts of the camp, there wouldn't be much of a chance."

"But it's unlikely they're stupid enough to do that again," Hook said from where he sat just outside the circle. "Looks like we're left with the bookworm's plan."

Unfortunately, Belle's plan turned out only being nice in theory. It wasn't as if they could come bearing a white flag and ask to see their leader. That had been tried before. And had ended bloody every time. Ogres didn't recognize the rules of war or attempt to negotiate. If this was a human army, perhaps they'd have a chance, but even with the number of humans in the encampment, chances of getting one of them to help with negotiations was slim.

He came just after sundown.

A man, cloaked in black, followed by two soldiers in frayed and bloodied leather armor. He came without warning, simply walked into their camp. The sentries followed him in, bows loaded and at the ready. Belle saw him first and froze in place, a horrible feeling curling in her gut. There was something _wrong_ about him. Something dark. His very presence commanded attention from everyone in the camp. He was not tall or large or even overtly threatening, yet every man was still, every eye fixed on him.

From the main tent Charming and Snow emerged, followed by Frederick and Abigail. The man bowed low, a refined but mocking gesture.

"Your Highnesses, my lord and lady," he said. His voice was raspy and his accent common. "I am Zoso, the Mage."

Belle's breath caught in her throat. Rum had never told her the names of the other Dark Ones. Zoso, the Mage. The only one she didn't know was the Witch now. Across the camp, recognition—and fear—were plain on Regina's face. No one else might know the title, but at least two of them knew who and what they were dealing with.

"What is your business here?" Charming asked. His voice was loud, commanding, so unlike his usual gentle words.

"I wish to strike a deal," Zoso said. "One that would be in our mutual interest."

"And what would that be?"

"A bargain. For the return of your Huntsman."

A flicker of interest passed over Charming's face. Not for more than a second, but it was enough to betray him.

"And in return?" he asked, voice steady and clear as before.

"You have my man, one Hordor. I'd like him back."

"No other terms?"

"No others."

"I must discuss this," Charming said. "Decisions cannot be made lightly."

"Naturally," Zoso said. "So here's the deal: in three days time, at dawn, I will be waiting at the top of the pass. You will bring my man and I will bring yours. We exchange, you walk free out of these mountains. We all sleep better at night."

"And if we decide against?"

"I'm sure your Huntsman can be put to use. One way or another." Zoso laughed coldly. "You have three days."

 

* * *

 

"We can't go along with this," Regina said. "It's a trap."

The company—along with Frederick and Abigail—had gathered in Charming and Snow's tent after Zoso left. Hook, as usual was seated casually in the corner while the rest of them stood or sat in the middle of the room. Belle resisted the urge to sigh. The argument was quickly starting to run in circles.

"I'm not so sure," Snow said. "What reason does he have to deceive us?"

"Snow's right," Abigail said. "We have this Hordor. He's been imprisoned in our main camp for a week or so. He's one of the higher-ups in this ogre business. It's no surprise Zoso wants him back."

"He can't be trusted," Regina insisted. Neither she nor Belle, by silent agreement, had revealed the significance of Zoso's title to the rest. For most people, the Dark Ones were myths. It was best to keep it that way. If word spread among the troops that the ogres were headed by the Dark One himself, they'd flee.

"Either way," Frederick said, "it's a two day journey to our camp. If we want even a chance of making this exchange, we have to send someone _now_."

"But if we don't make the exchange, do we really want to have Hordor sitting here?" Belle asked. "It's practically begging them to come and rescue him. We might not be able to rescue Graeme but they could easily overpower us."

"But there's no reason for us not to make the exchange," Snow said.

"It's not like we exactly have other options," Red added. "There's no way we could get into that camp. Especially not now that Zoso knows we're here. This is the only way to get Graeme back."

"Do we have everything we can get out of Hordor?" Charming asked Frederick.

"There's no way to know. We left days ago. He hadn't cracked, but that doesn't mean he hasn't since."

"We can't trust Zoso to make the exchange," Regina repeated.

"Well, if you have a better idea, please enlighten us!" Red said, throwing her hands up in the air. Belle pressed her palm to her forehead. The tent was hot and the arguing made her head hurt.

"I'm getting a breath of fresh air," she muttered to Hook on her way of the tent. He nodded.

The mountain air outside was cool and soothing. Belle knew she'd soon wish she'd brought a cloak, but for the moment it was nice to be out where it was cold and quiet. She walked out of camp, nodding at the sentries on her way past. The pine woods were dark. The ground was different here than she was used to—a mixture of rock shards and dead pine needles.

"Rum? Are you out here?" she called softly. There was no response. Hours later, when there was still no sign of him, she trudged back to camp. He needed to hear about Zoso. If he didn't already know. Rum would know what to do. If anyone did, it would be him.

A rider left just before dawn, bound for the army's camp. Despite Regina's protests, Hordor was to be fetched. The days passed. Belle went out and waited for Rum every chance she got, but never heard a word. All was silent in the mountain woods, waiting.

 

* * *

 

"…so since then they've been tracking the ogres through the forest," Belle told Ruby. She took another sip of her iced tea. Ordering the cold drink was really false hope that winter was nearly over. It was much too cold outside for iced anything—unless you were Belle French and trying to get the weather to take a hint. "Except for the part where Gr—The Huntsman was captured by ogres and they tried to rescue him."

"Captured by ogres? That doesn't sound good," Ruby said, smiling. Belle nodded emphatically.

"It was all a mistake really. He was out searching for the other Belle, but couldn't find her. And then he sacrificed himself to save her when they tried to rescue him," Belle said. It wasn't often that her friend asked about her writing other than to wonder when she'd be free to hang out without notebooks around. "It was all a surprise, really. I didn't see the capture coming at all." She shrugged. "Not sure where it's going either."

"Well, it sounds like you'd better get that figured out."

"It'll come to me, I'm sure," Belle said. She took another long sip of her tea. It tasted like it belonged with the warmer spring-like day that it ought to be outside. "Like the snowstorm. Ideas just present themselves when needed."

"Of course." Ruby didn't really get it, that was obvious, but her willingness to go along with it meant worlds to Belle. "Really though, doesn't it all sound rather familiar?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's all the similar names—"

"Those will probably change in the edit," Belle said quickly. She knew she probably shouldn't have named the characters after the people she knew, but that was something that could be fixed later. For the moment these names just sounded right.

"Okay," Ruby said. "But it's more than that. The secret love for that Rum character. Red and Graeme's interest in each other. I mean, we even had a snowstorm here too. You don't think that's similar?"

"The story's writing itself. I can't dictate what happens." She'd given that up long ago and never looked back. Loss of control was an easy price to pay for inspiration and the seamless flow of words.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ruby said. "Sounds like you're writing your life."

Belle glanced up at the clock. "Look, I've got to get home. I have things to do tonight."

"You're not upset with me, are you?"

"No, of course not." Belle gave her friend a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Belle hurried from the diner. What Ruby had said couldn't be true. She wasn't just writing her life. Belle and Graeme and Rum and Hook and Red—they were as real as anyone else. They were separate. They made their own choices. It was no fault of hers if there were some similarities.

She'd so wanted this story to be good. To be something she could be proud of and perhaps one day publish. She'd thought that following Rum's advice would help with that. It kept her writing, didn't it? But the story was supposed to be its own, not some cheap knock-off of her own life and problems. It was supposed to be an escape, not an autobiography. Is that what it had become?

And Rum. Really, he was no help at all. Making her follow the characters' wishes. Sure, sometimes the characters seemed real enough to be standing next to her, but she should have known better. It was all her, the whole time. She made the decisions, not them. That's what one got for listening to a hallucination.

The keys shook in Belle's hands, nearly falling when she tried to unlock the door to her apartment. Dropping her things by the door, she sat cross-legged on her couch, head in her hands.

But there was more to Rum, wasn't there? Too often he knew more than he should. And there was something… off about him whenever Mr. Gold came up in conversation. That wasn't all though. There were little things. Like the story Rum had told the other Belle—it definitely hadn't been her writing that. She could never have come up with it. Even more, now this Zoso character was the Mage just like in the story? What secret was he keeping? She couldn't even begin to figure him out.

Why was she even trying? Rum was a hallucination. A fancy she'd thought up. Probably had some cause a psychologist could find buried in her head. It didn't matter either way. She had to stop listening to him. She'd write using his method because it worked. But other than that, she was done with him.

 

* * *

 

The sky was slate gray, the same shade as the bare rock that surrounded the pass. Even the snow that had slid down to the bottom of the fissure in the peaks was gray. The pass itself was a long path between two sharp cliff faces.

At one end stood Charming and his men. Snow was beside him, as was Frederick. Red and Belle were just behind, clutching each others' arms for comfort. Hordor was a ways back, hands tied and eyes blindfolded, held by two guards and watched by Hook.

The ogres arrived just as the first hint of sunlight was visible through the pass behind them. They filled the gap between the cliffs, Zoso at their head. It seemed as if he'd brought his entire army along with him.

Both sides advanced until there was about fifty yards between them. A no man's land. Charming motioned with his hand for Hordor to be brought forward. Zoso did the same.

Belle gasped when they brought Graeme forward. He too was bound and blindfolded, but the guards were more carrying him than leading. Even from a distance, Belle could tell he was in pain. He was hunched over, his legs unsteady, his weight supported by the guard next to him. Zoso motioned again and the blindfold was ripped off. Charming followed suit with Hordor.

"Release the prisoners," Frederick called, his voice echoing over and over off the cliff walls.

Both Graeme and Hordor were shoved forward. The latter walked calmly, but Graeme had to struggle for each step. He stumbled, finding it difficult to get his footing in the icy snow. He fell once, but soon pushed himself back to his feet. Belle's hands gripped Red's forearm, white-knuckled. Red gripped Belle's arms in return. Graeme was far from halfway when Hordor passed him. The two men nodded to each other.

Hordor reached Zoso. He gave a terse, shallow bow, then retreated into the ranks of the ogres.

Graeme struggled to reach the halfway point of the no man's land. Belle had to remind herself to breathe regularly as she watched his every step with worry, silently cheering for him, hoping for him. She wanted nothing more than to run out and help him, let him lean his broken body on her, to support him. But doing so would violate this temporary armistice. No one from either side was allowed in the gap besides the prisoners.

He stumbled again. Red gave a little gasp. A moment, then another, and he finally pushed himself up, climbing slowly to his feet as though his every limb was made of cast iron. Once on his feet, he swayed at bit, standing still, bracing himself for the next step.

The twang of a crossbow.

A single black arrow flew across the pass.

It hit Graeme square in the back. He fell forward. The arrow stood straight in the air, pointing directly to his heart.

"NO!"

It took Belle a moment to realize the scream had come from her own mouth. It echoed over and over, reverberating in her ears, filling the canyon. She began to run forward, but hands grabbed her back. She fought, but the grip was too strong. Beside her, Red bit and clawed, trying to get free as well.

"Don't shoot! Hold your weapons!" Charming commanded. Red wrestled free, then screamed as another soldier stopped her again.

Zoso's cold, raspy laugh rang through the pass.

"There will be no peace," he said. "The ogres will destroy every last one of you. Take that back to your King." He spit on the snow, then turned and disappeared into the ranks of ogres. His army followed him, also laughing as Red continued to scream.

Belle couldn't make a sound. Her throat had closed up. She needed to get to Graeme. If only she could get to him everything would be alright. Get to Graeme. That was all.

The last of the ogres disappeared out of the pass and the hands restraining her let go. She ran, nearly falling her desperation, Red only a half pace behind her.

The snow was too red.

All around him it was soaked in scarlet. Belle and Red dropped to their knees. Careful not to dislodge the arrow, they turned him on to his side. His eyes were closed, his face dirty, bruised. There was a gash on his forehead that looked several days old.

Breathing heavily, Belle pressed her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. There wasn't one she could find. She choked back panic and pressed her head to his chest. His shirt was thin, barely enough to cover him. He must be freezing. They should bring him a cloak, get him back to camp. It couldn't be good for him to be in the snow in this condition…

There was silence.

No heartbeat.

"No…" Belle whispered. "No… Graeme… please. No. Wake up. Wake up, darling. It's alright."

Tears were streaming down Red's face. She seemed to be in shock, unable to move. Belle could barely meet her eyes. It couldn't be. They just needed a cloak. Warm him up. That was all.

Belle ran her hand through his hair. It was matted with dirt and dried blood.

" _Graeme_."

 

* * *

 

END OF ACT II


	27. A Coincidence, That’s All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say something, I'm giving up on you  
> I'll be the one, if you want me to  
> Anywhere I would've followed you  
> Say something, I'm giving up on you  
> ~"Say Something", A Great Big World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to just say that elli.O. and I never intended to take this long of a hiatus. College (specifically an intro to anatomy class and severe anxiety issues) has a way of kicking our butts a little. Anyway, now we're done with the semester, we'll be back to regular updates until the end! Enjoy the final act of our story :)

Previously…

_The man dropped to his knees and pulled of his hood. His men lowered their weapons and did the same, revealing the figure next to him to be a golden-haired woman._ _"Your highness," he said, "apologies. I didn't realize—"…_

… _Charming stooped to pick up his sword. "One of my men was captured by a band of ogres headed for the mountain pass."…_

…" _Your Highnesses, my lord and lady," he said. His voice was raspy and his accent common. "I am Zoso, the Mage."…_

…" _Naturally," Zoso said. "So here's the deal: in three days time, at dawn, I will be waiting at the top of the pass. You will bring my man and I will bring yours. We exchange, you walk free out of these mountains. We all sleep better at night."…_

… _The days passed. Belle went out and waited for Rum every chance she got, but never heard a word. All was silent in the mountain woods, waiting…_

…" _Release the prisoners," Frederick called, his voice echoing over and over off the cliff walls…_

… _The twang of a crossbow. A single black arrow flew across the pass…_

… _There was silence. No heartbeat. "No…" Belle whispered. "No… Graeme… please. No. Wake up. Wake up, darling. It's alright."_

 

* * *

 

 

Writing Graeme's death had been harder than any scene that had come before. Anticipating the strain of it, Belle had cleared her Sunday afternoon so she could focus on it. Although it hadn't taken long to write—she'd finished by 4:00—it had taken her the rest of the night to recover. Mostly through tea, chocolate, and old movies streamed from her laptop. Sadly, she couldn't continue to mourn her character the next morning. Real life called and demanded that she show up for her job and get dressed and live her life.

According to her bathroom mirror, she didn't look so great. Well, she looked like she'd been up half the night crying and moping. Which she had. Part of her realized that this level of attachment to fictional characters wasn't healthy, but they didn't seem simply fictional anymore. They were a part of her. Writing Graeme's death had pulled something out of the core of her and left her empty and shaking. The dark circles under her eyes were the worst. Even makeup couldn't seem to completely hide them.

Sighing, she gave up and left the apartment as she was. She'd agreed to meet Ruby for breakfast before she opened the library. Ruby certainly had plenty to talk about, so it would be best not to be late. After her last abrupt departure from Ruby's company, she owed her friend an apology. Ruby hadn't meant any harm. She'd only be drawing connections between Belle's story and real life. Belle had overreacted.

It was a clear, bright day. Belle nearly wished she'd thought to bring sunglasses along with her. At least it was getting steadily warmer as the weeks went by. Hopefully they'd get an early spring.

As she passed the Pawn Shop, Mr. Gold was at the door, flipping the sign from "Closed" to "Open". Belle's breath caught in her throat. As upset with him as she might be because of Cora Mills, treacherous butterflies formed in her stomach whenever he was around.

She met his eyes only because she'd been staring. There was an odd expression on his face. One that seemed wrong for him, but dearly familiar nonetheless.

Realizing what she was doing, Belle broke eye contact and hurried on down the street.

Ruby was waiting for her when she got to the diner. A plate of pancakes was at Belle's seat. Ruby had eggs and bacon, her usual. She wasn't a fan of syrup as much.

"You look terrible," Ruby said as Belle sat down.

"Thanks." Belle almost upset her coffee mug as she propped her head on her hands. "I feel awful too if you were wondering."

"What happened?" Ruby asked. "Because if this is about a certain Mr. Gold, it would help if you went and _talked_ to him."

"It's not that."

"Really?" Ruby took a bite of her eggs. "Either way, you should talk to him. I'm sure there's an explanation. Or, you know, Regina could be lying."

"She's not."

"How do you know?"

"What reason does she have?" Belle asked. "It's something I could easily confirm for myself. So if it wasn't true, she'd give me something harder to disprove. I know her tricks. How many years have we shared this town with her?"

"I still think you should talk to Gold."

"Fine. I'll consider it." Belle started on her pancakes to ignore the look Ruby was giving her. Sure, she was being stubborn—maybe it would help to talk to Gold. But how did one approach a situation like that? March into his shop and demand to know about his personal affairs? Because that wasn't nosy at all coming from a girl he'd spoken to once.

"What's up with you?" Belle finally asked. "Any news?"

"I've been busy," Ruby said. "Keeping up with everything, you know? And it doesn't help that I spent most of last night in the hospital."

"Why?" Belle looked her friend over. There didn't seem to be anything—

"Not for me. For Graham."

"What happened?"

"Nothing permanent," Ruby reassured her. "He broke his arm yesterday afternoon. Fell off a ladder. He's fine. He'll wear a cast for a while, but it's nothing complicated."

Belle nodded, trying to remain calm. "What time did this happen?" she asked.

Ruby shrugged. "I dunno. Why does it matter?"

"Just tell me."

"Okay… it was about four o'clock—"

Belle didn't let her finish the sentence. Grabbing her bag and coat, she practically ran out of the diner. Four o'clock. The same time she'd written Graeme's death. It was too close to be a coincidence. Any rational person would say it was a coincidence. But with everything else, it didn't seem like it could be.

She ran to the library and locked the door behind her.

"Rum!" she called. "Rumpelstiltskin!"

There was no answer. But he had always answered her, especially if she was alone. How couldn't he come anyway? He was her imagination. Didn't she have any control over it?

"Rumpelstiltskin!"

She set her bag down on the circulation desk and ran back into the stacks of books, hoping that he might be hiding there.

"Rumpelstiltskin!"

Nothing. There was no sign of him.

A crazy idea occurred to her. It was mad, it wouldn't work. But without Rum here, what option did she have?

 

* * *

 

Sinking to the ground, Belle tried to get her breathing under control. She couldn't run any farther. Her legs simply would not move anymore. Tears fell freely down her face, hot, boiling, and uneven, as if they were being choked out with the hiccuping sobs that shook her whole body.

She didn't know how far she was from camp, just that she was far enough that no one would be able to fetch her easily. Of course, she had left a trail for them to follow if need arose, but they probably wouldn't. Not now when everyone was caught up in their own grief. It had been overwhelming. She hadn't been able to take it. The others were mourning, but also preparing for the journey home. Belle didn't want to leave. Leaving would mean taking back a corpse rather than a good man.

Graeme was dead. There was no way around that. Whether she stayed here in the wild forests forever or returned with her broken company to the Castle, that fact would not change. He was dead. And would stay that way.

It wasn't supposed to end like that.

Red and Graeme were supposed to get married and be happy. Belle was supposed to return to her library. She was supposed to find a way to be with Rum. It was all supposed to be happily ever after.

Hands shaking, Belle pulled her knife from its sheath at her waist. Turning around, she started to carve into the tree. The bark was thick and the work was slow, but she continued on, gouging into the wood as if that would carve the pain out of her chest.

Later, she couldn't tell how long she'd sat there. Her hands ached with the pressure of the knife's handle. Yet there before her, carved into the tree, was the image of a heart. Perhaps it was her heart. If only she could carve it out and leave it here only so that she didn't have to feel this agony.

It was a terrible idea, leaving her heart. She wouldn't do it. It was a thought half-considered in her grief. Belle leaned her forehead against the tree, in the middle of the heart, as a fresh wave of sobbing overtook her. The bark hurt her. It dug into her skin, but she didn't move away. If only she had saved him. There must have been a way. If only she had seen it at the time.

Taking up the knife, Belle started to carve again. Letters. Each familiar, yet in a harsh, angular script. The tree wasn't suited to flair. Crude letters would have to do.

_B_

The scene replayed in her mind over and over. The stumble. The arrow. Falling. Screaming.

_E_

Running towards him. Red beside her. Blood in the snow. No pulse.

_L_

It seemed as if she'd never run out of tears. There were always more to cry.

_L_

Her lap was full of chips of wood and bark. Her hands were rubbed raw.

_E_

Belle. In love. A scene came to her mind of the last moment she'd had completely alone with Graeme. He'd been sleeping on the couch in her chambers at the Castle. She'd teased him and he'd kissed her and they'd scarred the eyes of the poor page boy who'd come to fetch them.

How could something so happy have turned into something so sad?

She raised the knife, ready to carve Graeme's name below hers. At the last moment she stopped, tip of the knife resting on the tree.

Belle and Graeme in love. That's what she would leave here? What dishonesty would that be?

She shook her head to clear it of silly, bothersome thoughts. She took a deep breath and positioned the knife, ready to cut.

No. She couldn't do it. She couldn't complete this. It would be a betrayal, a dishonor to the memory of what she and Graeme had shared for so many years.

Because he was no longer the man she loved. That time had passed. Her heart had moved on, even before her mind was ready to admit it.

A single tear fell from her eye as she moved the knife a little and began to carve three letters into the tree: R-U-M.

 

* * *

 

Regina found it easy enough to follow Belle's trail, especially with the aid of a little magic. The others were nearly ready to leave. All that was left for her to do was fetch the wayward bookworm.

The low murmur of voices from ahead made her pause. It seemed Belle was not alone. A smirk growing on her face, Regina crept forward as silently as she could.

In the clearing were two people—Belle, and a man Regina did not recognize. It was hard to make out his features in the forests' dim light, but that didn't matter. The two were locked in an embrace much too intimate for strangers. So this was who Belle was sneaking off to see.

She couldn't make out the words the two spoke. His were quiet and comforting, hers filled with tears. Were they for Graeme or for herself?

"I love you," Belle said, choking on her tears. The man ran his hand along her face, then leaned in and kissed her. Regina contained a scathing laugh. It appeared Belle had secrets. Secrets that could easily destroy her.

 

* * *

 

The journey home was slow going. They traveled with Frederick and Abigail's company. Six of their men carried Graeme. The rest followed, trying not to look at the board covered with a canvas. Every step pained Belle. It was one step away from Rum and from Graeme and towards this new life she would be given.

Her time with Rum that morning hadn't been long. She'd had to get back to camp soon after he appeared. He hadn't mentioned the heart in the tree, but he'd kept glancing at it. She hoped he didn't mind. Belle squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. How could she? How could she think of and miss Rum when Graeme's corpse was being carried ahead of her? Did she have no respect?

If only that arrow hadn't been fired. If only Graeme was still with them. She needed him more than she'd thought. Of all the company, it was him she knew best. She wanted to tell him about Rum. She wanted him to know she could be happy. She wanted to spend an afternoon with him off in a corner of the Castle when he got tired of wedding preparations. She wanted him to be walking by her side, sneaking glances at Red out of the corner of his eye.

She hadn't just lost a past sweetheart, she'd lost a best friend.

 

* * *

 

Red tried not to look at him. But somehow every time she lost focus, her eyes drifted back to staring. The canvas obscured his figure. She couldn't make out the features of his face or the shape of his body. He was a mound under and bit of spare cloth. A true honor for a warrior of the crown.

Beside her, Belle seemed troubled. She walked stiffly, as if she had to force herself to take every step. If anyone had the right to mourn Graeme, Belle did. Red only loved him for a few weeks. Belle had years with him. How cruel was it that he died just after he was taken from her? And how cruel was it that he fell in love again even closer to his death?

 

* * *

 

This wasn't how Charming had planned this journey to end. It was supposed to be one last mission with his company. Something simple to give them a few weeks together before they went their separate ways. They were supposed to go home closer than they'd left with a report that the northern mountains were clear.

Carrying a corpse home wasn't part of the plan.

His mind went over and over the past few days. Was there something they could have done differently? Something that could have saved Graeme? He was a good man, an excellent huntsman, a dear friend. He was Charming's responsibility.

Even the knowledge of Zoso and the ogres in the pass wasn't worth this price.

 

* * *

 

Of all the things that Belle's absences could have been, Regina never would have thought it would be another man. Who was he? Where did he come from? How long had this been going on? Not that any of it really mattered. Regina could invent the answers she needed.

This would be it. Her revenge on those perfect three princesses. They had everything she'd ever wanted. And now that they'd lost their precious huntsman, Regina didn't have to be careful to keep his favor. All that was left was to drive the three of them apart. And Belle's secret lover might be just the thing Regina needed.

 

* * *

 

Snow walked heavily, her arm in Charming's to keep her going the right direction. She could barely see though the slow, but steady tears that filled her eyes. Graeme had been a constant for her. A protector, a brother in all but blood. He was always there when she needed him, even just to listen to her problems or sit quietly with her.

It wasn't a one-sided relationship. He'd needed her too. She'd protected him from the nobles and the intrigue of the court. Countless times she'd worked to divert attention from him, to keep him out of the messiness of it all. He'd never known how little freedom he could have had. Neither, she suspected, did she know exactly all the ways he'd looked out for her.

Somehow, her brother had fallen in love with both of her best friends. It had never bothered her. Snow had been happy for him, knowing that first Belle, and then Red, would understand him and be good to him. He was a man of the woods, not stone walls.

At least he died under the open sky, Snow thought. He would have preferred that. Anything other than to slowly waste away in a silken bed.

 

* * *

 

_Oh, dank and dingy cell, here I come at last_.

Variations of the phrase had been lurking in the forefront of Hook's mind since they left camp. There was no escaping it now. The only question was: would he have a few days or weeks of freedom before the King realized that his deal was over? And then what? Would he get a lifetime of imprisonment, away from the sky and sea, or would he be executed for his crimes?

In an odd way, he was rather looking forward to the cell. Things were simple when in prison. There was hunger and cold and the desperation to catch a breath of fresh air or a bit of sunlight when offered. But other than that, there was nothing. No cares, no worries, no intrigue, no politics. Only basic things.

No mourning of dead men. Because everyone in prison was essentially dead, the dead did not have such an effect. Everything seemed timeless and endless. One didn't see any of one's friends or comrades, so it did not matter what state they were in.

The only problem with prison was the severe deficiency of rum.

 

* * *

 

A bell rang as Belle burst through the door of the Pawn Shop. The door shut behind her with a click and Belle leaned against it a little. Coming here was a bad idea. Stupid idea. This was not going to help. She should just leave.

"Miss French," his smooth voice reached her as Mr. Gold stepped out of the back. "A pleasure to see you again." He leaned on his cane a little, looking dapper as ever, even in his shirtsleeves. Sadly it seemed that her anger with the man didn't stop him from being attractive. Nervous butterflies formed in Belle's stomach.

"What's going on?" she blurted. Stupid, stupid. Of course the first words out of her mouth had to make no sense. Rum might be loosely based on Mr. Gold, but that didn't mean she could address the man as if he were her imaginary friend.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." His face creased with concern. Limping, he stepped towards her.

"Cora. Graham. The snowstorm." Her brain wasn't working right. Or at least it wasn't communicating with her mouth very well. She sounded like a madwoman.

Gold stopped, settling back into a careful stance, both hands resting on his cane. "Ah," he said lightly, as if he understood her completely.

"What?" she asked as if she hadn't been the one making no sense in the first place. He seemed too relaxed. He wasn't confused. Why wasn't he confused? She was the one who came bursting into his shop without explaining herself. Yet it was as if he already knew what she was talking about. How could he though? He had no way. Unless he could read minds. But somehow she doubted that.

He regarded her carefully, as if he was weighing his words. Finally, he spoke: "I cannot tell you what you want to know," he said. "And neither will Rum, if you ask him."

"You know about Rum?" she asked. Now her head was spinning.

"Of course I do."

"How?"

He sighed heavily. "It's dangerous for you to know."

"Tell me anyway."

"Sweetheart, I don't want you to get hurt—" he started, a strange expression on his face—was it pity? Or something else? Something deeper?

"What right do you have to call me that?" she snapped, her anger over him and Cora coming back to her in a rush.

Gold shut his mouth, looking rather furious with himself.

"After you and Cora—" Belle began.

"I can explain," Gold said quickly. He sighed, as if his words were against his better judgment. "It will sound mad, but I can explain."

"I'm listening." She was scared. He was scaring her. How could he know all this? This was completely not what she had expected. He was acting strange. Since when did Mr. Gold call people "sweetheart" and offer to explain his actions? It was unheard of.

"I assume you're here because of our dear sheriff's broken arm?" he asked. Belle nodded. "You're right to think that it's because of his counterpart's death in your story."

"What? How?" Her mind was truly spinning. Perhaps she was imagining him too. Perhaps she was still in the library and this was some insane delusion her mind had created.

"Everything you've written is real, Miss French." It seemed painful for him to say it. Like he knew he shouldn't have but had gone ahead anyway. "The story Rumpelstiltskin told you in—I believe it was chapter sixteen—is the truth. We are under a powerful curse, and therefore split between two worlds. They mirror each other. Graeme dies there, his counterpart feels the effect."

"Graham will die?" she asked. No. Graham was her friend. If she had known—

"I do not think that will be necessary."

"But..." Belle took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. "But it's all a story, Mr. Gold. I made it up. Rum is a figment of my imagination." She spoke slowly, as if to a child or a crazy person. Granted, she didn't have much ground to call others crazy, but this was too far.

"You've convinced yourself of that," he said.

"And Cora?"

His expression softened and he smiled sadly at her. "I did it for you, Belle. She said she would torture you, perhaps kill you. I couldn't let her do that."

"So you're really—Regina told the truth."

"I wish with all my heart I could deny it."

Her head was swirling. Mr. Gold knew about her story. He knew about Rum. This wasn't possible. Regina was right. Cora and Mr. Gold—but he'd done it for her. Cora threatened to kill her.

"This is crazy. Insane. You're insane." She backed up, fumbling for the doorknob. "If you weren't interested in me, you should have just told me. Not made up this wild excuse to spare my feelings," she blurted, then yanked the door open and ran out, the ding of the bell ringing in her ears.


	28. A Return and a Gift of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be your candle on the water  
> My love for you will always burn  
> I know you're lost and drifting  
> But the clouds are lifting  
> Don't give up—you have somewhere to turn  
> ~"Candle on the Water", Pete's Dragon

The company met up with a scouting regiment a day's journey from the castle. There, they ordered horsemen to ride ahead and inform King George and the court of the nature of their return. They spent the night there and began again early in the morning. Each step closer to the Castle held more weight for Belle. It was closer to rejoining the intricacy of court life. It was closer to the funeral. It was closer to leaving Rum behind.

As they neared the Castle, the road grew wider and smoother. Their hands drifted from their weapons and their shoulders relaxed a little. They rounded the last bend in the road and before them, through the trees, stood the Castle.

It rose up into the sky as it always had: strong and tall, its banners waving in the wind. The sea crashed against the rocks that held up its base. The chilled pallor that came with winter washed out the colorful scene before them. The sea seemed duller, the sky whiter, the trees along the road—if not bare and brown—hid under dull green needles.

Their approach seemed both impossibly slow and much too fast. Their steps seemed not to make a difference in their distance, yet if Belle lost focus for even a minute, she found that they had advanced a great deal.

Her eyes darted around, searching the forest surreptitiously for any sign of a scaled and cloaked man who might be watching over them. She didn't see him. Still the thought that he might be just out of sight brought her a little comfort.

The walk across the bridge seemed the longest. Through the open air, the sky glared down at them for the first time since the pass. Without the forest to hide her, Belle felt exposed, as if all the world could see her and pass judgment. After all, had she not spent more of the journey missing Rum than Graeme?

The Castle gates swung open slowly as they approached. Well oiled hinges made not a sound. The company passed through, silent but for the sound of their boots on the stone.

The riders had relayed their message to the King. As on the day of their last return, people lined the street. This time they were silent. There were no bright colors or flags or cheers or bright-eyed children hoping for a glimpse of their prince and princess. No, the people watched solemnly, wrapped in thier darkest cloaks. Their heads bowed as the soldiers bearing Graeme passed. Mothers' hands tightened on their children's shoulders. Quiet tears fell.

The sound of their boots on stone echoed in the silent streets. It punctuated the hollow sound of the wind above.

They ended up in the square in front of the keep, where King George himself stood at the doors to greet them. His expression held steady and serious, the same as ever. Only now, he looked a little sadder than usual—perhaps disappointed?

Around him, the lords and ladies of the court stood at attention, some looking more convincingly upset than others. Belle scanned the crowd, biting her lip to stop angry tears. Of all the familiar faces, not one looked truly upset. A man had died and they only faked disappointment, probably taking advantage of the opportunity to update their black wardrobe. Graeme was a good man. The court had never seen that. And now they never would. Of all those gathered, only one wore tears—a woman Belle didn't know. She stood tall, shoulders squared. She seemed different. Her blonde hair fell long and loose and she seemed too proud, too strong for a noblewoman. A short sword hung at her hips. She wore her tears proudly, and for that Belle silently thanked her.

The procession of warriors broke at that point. The soldiers took Graeme to be prepared for burial. At a nod from their commander, the rest of Frederick and Abigail's company made their way to the barracks to catch a few hours sleep. Belle, Regina and Red accompanied Charming and Snow up the steps to the keep, followed by Abigail and Frederick, then Hook after them at a distance.

"Welcome home, my son," King George said flatly as they reached him. Charming only nodded. The King led the way indoors. "I would like to speak to you and your wife," he said to Charming. "Follow me."

Snow's mouth tightened into a sharp line. Belle offered her a half smile as encouragement. Snow nodded.

"We'll meet later," Charming said to the rest of them, taking his wife's arm and following the King up to his study.

A page approached, offering to show Abigail and Frederick to their room. They took their leave quickly. Hook sighed, looking around.

"Anyone want to bet how long I've got? I'll put ten shillings that I won't last the evening."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Let's go get cleaned up. A bath would do us all good."

Hook shrugged but followed her up the stairs anyway to where each of their chambers lay. Belle squeezed Red's hand to get her attention. The werewolf had been staring off at the wall and missed the others' departure. "Come on," Belle said. Red nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath.

Belle's chambers were exactly as she'd left them. They smelled clean—it seemed that announcing their arrival had accomplished more than preparing the crowds. She stood in the doorway long after the door closed behind her, taking it in.

Her eyes fell on the couch. From her memory, the image of Graeme lying on it seemed as real as it had been the last time she'd been here. She'd kissed him awake from a nap he hadn't really been taking. They'd been interrupted by a page boy.

She tore her eyes from the couch as they began to fill with tears from the memories, but everywhere she looked memories of Graeme flooded her mind. With a hiccup, she began to sob and rushed to the bed to bury her face and screams in the pillows.

 

* * *

 

"Where are we going? Belle?" Mary Margaret pulled her wrist out of Belle's grip.

"Come on," Belle said. "I need you to look at something for me."

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

Mary Margaret sighed and motioned for Belle to lead the way. The sun was quickly dropping below the horizon and the streets were filled with faint shadows around too-bright streetlights.

The lights shone clearly from Mr. Gold's shop, making the interior visible even from the girls' position across the street. Belle came to a stop across from the stop, where she could see Mr. Gold within. Tonight he was wiping down the counter with an old rag.

"What are we looking for?" Mary Margaret said.

"Mr. Gold. You can see him, right?" It was Belle's last theory. Perhaps she'd imagined him from the beginning. Made him up like she had Rum. It wasn't likely and she could easily find holes in the logic, but _anything_ made more sense than the parallel worlds and curses story he'd fed her yesterday.

"Yeah, of course." Mary Margaret turned to Belle, searching her face. "Are you alright, Belle? Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine," Belle said. A sinking feeling grew in her stomach. There was no explanation. He was real. Every instinct she had told her he was telling the truth. But she couldn't believe this. It was too crazy. She was a writer—that's all. She'd signed up to write, not get caught up in a story of her own.

"Belle?"

"Thanks, Mary Margaret," she said. "I'll see you later." She hurried away, leaving Mary Margaret to stare curiously after her. Let her stare, Belle thought. If all this was right, if this was what she chose to believe, then they were all cursed. Staring friends were the least of her problems.

 

* * *

 

Belle sat in the window seat of her bedchamber, back against the wall and legs curled beneath her. Her window wasn't a special one. It wasn't on a turret or on the top floor or the bottom. It was in the middle of one of the Castle's walls, looking out over the sea. She was just another face in one of the hundreds of windows.

Dark waves ruled the sea this time of year. Instead of the summer waves' gentle rolling, these ones crashed against the rocks and beach. Their rough force was comforting. Belle didn't have to scream and rage if the sea did it for her.

She leaned her head against the cold glass, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her shoulders. The warm bath had done her worlds of good. The first one back at the Castle always did. Finally she washed away all the dirt she'd never quite been able to get rid of in cold river water. Her hair steadily soaked through her gown where it was gathered over her shoulder. The wet curls rested heavily on her chest. She wasn't used to wearing her hair down.

"What are you thinking of today, dearie?"

Belle turned, a smile growing on her face. Rum perched on her couch, as dramatically elegant as ever. It was downright odd to see him indoors, yet he seemed comfortable enough in her room.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, coming to join him on the couch. "Isn't it dangerous for you in the Castle?" She'd thought their time was over. She'd though she wouldn't see him again. She supposed it was silly to think entering the Castle was beyond his abilities, but she hadn't ever imagined it.

"Dangerous?" He laughed. "I am more a danger to them than they are to me, dearie."

"So you'll come visit me?"

"As often as I can."

Belle smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Resting her head on his shoulder, she took his hand and threaded their fingers together. As they sat together, a tear fell from Belle's eyes before she could hold it back.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Rum asked gently.

She opened her mouth, almost blurting what had been on her mind for days. _I love you. I love you. I didn_ _'t mean to, but I fell in love with you._

"It's nothing," she said. "I'm just tired. And G-Graeme."

"Of course," he said, holding her tighter. "You should sleep, Belle."

Her name sounded lovely on his lips. He didn't use it often, preferring "dearie" or "sweetheart". She liked both, but there was something special about the way her name sounded.

"I can't," she said. "I need to get ready to meet with the others soon—"

"You can throw something on quickly," Rum said. "It's no banquet. Sleep. They'll wake you when you're needed."

Belle nodded, her eyes already drooping a bit. Rum led her to her bed, letting her lean on him. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?" she asked.

"It won't take long, but yes." He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through her hair as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Gold looked up as the door to his shop opened. He kept his expression steady as a man in a dark cloak entered. Gold was thankful he had skill enough to hide his disappointment. He'd hope it would be Belle. He hadn't seen her since she'd run out on him three days before. He didn't blame her. After the difficulty she'd had accepting that her characters controlled the story, a bombshell like this wouldn't come easily.

"Master," he said. "It's been a long time."

Zoso flicked his hand and the blinds shut. He removed his hood and regarded Gold with pale eyes and a sour expression.

"I did not think you enjoyed this world," Gold said. "It's a surprise to see you walking about here."

"I do what I must."

"Of course. And what, may I ask, is the purpose of this visit?"

Zoso looked around the shop, his distaste for this modern world plain. He avoided this place when he could. Directing his ogre armies and causing strife with the kingdoms made him much happier.

"That girl was here," he said. "What was she doing?"

"This shop is open to the public," Gold said carefully, resisting the urge to object to the title of "that girl" as if his Belle were some common drudge. "Anyone in town is free to come and go as they please."

"She hasn't before. What did she want?"

"She did not inform me what she was looking for. I don't think she found it though. She left without purchasing anything."

Zoso didn't look convinced. He never did. Gold supposed he'd always been seen as the lying student who was too kind and too good and never killed more than he had too—all detriments to his character in Zoso's book. With a frown, Zoso looked the shop over once more, then turned and left without so much as a goodbye. He was never one for niceties. A side-effect of so much time with ogres for company.

Gold took a deep breath once he was gone. He only hoped that Belle got over her doubts soon. He didn't know how long he could hold Cora and Zoso off. They would realize what she knew eventually. Hopefully it would be too late for them to act by then.

 

* * *

 

"… all official business will be postponed until after the funeral, which will be in three days," Charming said. Gatherings in Snow and Charming's sitting room were just another thing that felt wrong now. The six of them took up too little space. They were too far away from each other, with gaping holes between them. Physically, the room was cramped as always, but there was noticeably more room without Graeme's lanky body squeezed in.

"The King had nothing else to say?" Regina asked.

Charming shook his head. "Only his condolences for our loss."

"It's late and we're all tired," Snow said. "I'll have food sent up to each of our rooms. I'm sure our absence at dinner will be understood."

Hook leaned over to Charming, talking quickly and quietly. Belle tried to listen, but was stopped when Red tapped her arm. She took Belle's hands in her own.

"I want to ask a favor of you," she said.

"Anything." Anything for the girl who hadn't gotten a chance to be with Graeme. Belle wished nothing more than that Red and Graeme had gotten more time. It was cruel to take him just after they had fallen for each other.

"I want you to sing it," Red said softly. "The lament."

"What?" Belle gasped. "No, Red, I can't—"

The lament for a fallen warrior was an honor given to the man's wife, or, as in Graeme's case, his wife-to-be. In the absence of a sweetheart, the solder's mother would sing it.

"You and he…" Red swallowed. "You loved him so much longer than I."

"He was promised to you."

"Only for a few weeks." Red gave a sad smile. "He loved you so much, Belle. He and I never really had a chance. Only a few months ago, this would have been your right. I can't take that from you."

"But…" She couldn't. She couldn't take it, no matter how much or how long she had loved Graeme. Because she didn't anymore. Not like that. Her heart already belonged to another. But she couldn't tell Red that.

"Please, Belle." She squeezed Belle's hands. "I'm not just doing this because I think it's right. I want you to sing it. Graeme would want it. We might have loved each other, but you were such a part of his life. Please. It would mean the world to me."

Belle sighed and looked away, unable to meet Red's eyes. How could she refuse? How could she accept? It was true that she still loved Graeme as a dear friend, but was that enough for her to sing the lament? Would it be a greater dishonor to sing than to not? Red was her friend. She couldn't let her down.

"Belle," Red said earnestly. "This is right. The lament is yours to sing."

Belle took a deep breath, hating herself even as the words passed from her mouth: "Alright. I'll sing it. If that's what you truly want."


	29. A Song of a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bealocwealm hafadh fréone frecan forth onsended  
>  [An evil death has set forth the noble warrior]  
> Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende  
>  [A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels]  
> On Meduselde thaet he ma no waere  
>  [In Meduseld that he is no more]  
> His dryhtne dyrest and maga deorost.  
>  [To his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved.]  
> Baelo…  
>  [An evil death…]
> 
> ~Eowyn's lament for Théodred, The Two Towers

On Monday morning, a stranger drove into Storybrooke. That was odd; it wasn't often strangers found their way to town.

The bright yellow bug clashed with the grey February day. As it drove down Main Street, people gathered in windows, paused on the street, turned their heads to stare at it passing. Even Belle paused at the library's window to watch it pass when it caught her eye.

The driver didn't seem lost or unfamiliar with the surroundings. She didn't stop to peer at each sign or glance around to make sure she was in the right place. The distance between her window and the street blurred everything but her silhouette, so Belle couldn't tell if the stranger had been here before or not. In the backseat sat the silhouette of another head—a child's—bent over a book or video game.

Belle hovered in the window until the car passed out of sight. There was something strangely familiar about it. As if she was supposed to recognize it, but didn't. Yet at the same time she knew it was new and didn't belong here. It was a pebble thrown into clear water unexpectedly. And Belle wasn't sure that the following ripples would be a good thing.

 

* * *

 

The diner was full of the buzz of hurried conversation. Belle glanced over the crowd, a faint smile coming to her face. She'd come for lunch a bit earlier than usual, landing herself right in the middle of the midday crowd. And today, the single topic of conversation seemed to be the stranger in the yellow bug.

Belle made her way to the farthest seat at the counter, out of everyone else's way. She gave Ruby a nod, happy to wait until her friend had a free minute. She had all the time she wanted. Without scheduled events, it was rare to have visitors at the library these days.

"Belle." Ruby greeted her with a smile and a bowl of soup, anticipating Belle's order. "Finally some sanity. It's a madhouse in here."

"I noticed." She accepted the soup with a nod of thanks.

"It's all because of that stranger." Ruby leaned against the counter so she was closer to Belle.

"Really?" Belle looked around. "What does the city of Storybrooke have so far?"

Ruby grinned, in her element, and recited, "Her name is Emma Swan. Her kid's name is Henry. She's got Massachusetts plates, so probably from Boston. She drove up to the sheriff's station two hours ago and no one's seen her since."

"And everyone's still finding things to discuss about that?" Belle laughed.

"Well, it's mostly speculation now." Ruby shrugged. "How are you? You ran out of here pretty fast the last week."

"I'm fine," Belle assured her.

"You don't look fine. You look upset. What happened?" Ruby studied her, trying to break through the mask Belle struggled to hold up. "Is it Mr. Gold?" she asked.

"I..." Belle swallowed. She didn't want to talk about this, but it was better than addressing what was really on her mind. "I went to see him."

Ruby was stunned. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. When she finally regained the ability to speak, she spoke slowly, looking for Belle to contradict her. "At the pawn shop. Mr. Gold. You talked to him?"

Belle nodded. A grin exploded on Ruby's face and she had to clap her hands over her mouth to restrain a shriek.

"What did he say? What did you say? What happened? Are you together? Did you kiss him?"

"Ruby. Ruby!"

"What?" she asked, breaking off her flood of questions.

"No, none of that happened. I mean, yes, we talked, but that's all."

"What'd you talk about?" Ruby asked, a glint coming into her eyes.

"Look, Ruby, it was nothing. It's fine now."

The look left Ruby's eyes, but she remained suspicious. "What did he say about Cora? You did talk about that didn't you?"

"Yes..." Belle sighed. She really hadn't meant to get into all this. "Look, it's nothing. He fed me some unspecific explanations. But I'm okay."

"You're okay?" Ruby scoffed. "The man you've spent months and months obsessing over gives you lame excuses about his affair and you're okay?"

"Look, it's not my biggest worry right now. I can deal with that later."

"Not your biggest—Belle what's wrong?"

Belle didn't know what made her say it. Stupidity, perhaps. Or the genuine concern in her friend's eyes.

"It's my story."

Of all things, Ruby didn't seem to have been expecting that. Her eyes widened and she tried to phrase a kind question. "What about it?"

"It's just..." Phrasing crazy was difficult. Cause that's what it was. Crazy. "It's more complicated than I thought. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it."

"Can't you just simplify it?"

"It's doesn't work like that."

Ruby gave her a kind smile. "Well, I'm sure you'll get through it."

"Yeah." Belle sighed.

"Look," Ruby said, "are you sure you're okay with Mr. Gold? You were pretty cut up over it and it doesn't sound like he did much to help—"

"Mr. Gold and I are fine," Belle said firmly.

"I just want you to be happy."

Belle laughed a little. "Tell that to this story."

"I wish I could."

The bell by the register rang, calling Ruby away. Belle waited until she was busy with the customers to leave a few bills on the counter for her uneaten soup and leave the diner. She'd thought that talking with Ruby and being part of a little normal life would help clear her head. Instead it only made things worse. What did she believe? Gold's story made no sense at all, but at the same time, it made too much sense. It was the only thing that fit. A part of her considered that there might be other options if she looked for them, but her mind couldn't hold any other theory.

 

* * *

 

The next morning wasn't any better. Belle's restless night hadn't sorted anything out. Her head and her story were just as big a mess as they'd been the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that as well.

Real or not real? Parallel worlds or a story? Friend or hallucination? What was she supposed to believe? A part of her couldn't believe she was even considering Gold's story. The rest of her pointed out that she'd been hanging out with Rum for months now with barely a second thought.

By the end of the morning, being alone in the library with nothing but her swirling thoughts was too much. Gathering her coat and lunch, Belle locked up and hurried down the street. She passed Granny's quickly, not wanting a repeat of the day before. Her feet took her to the sheriff's station without consciously realizing where she was headed. But it was exactly what she needed. Talking to Graham would clear her head.

The sheriff's station was quiet as always. There wasn't much crime in Storybrooke, so there were no prisoners or use for most of the rooms. The lights in the hall were kept at half power to save money. Belle was only grateful the heat wasn't under the same rule.

"Graham?" she called softly as she came around the corner to his office. "Graham?"

She stopped short in the doorway. Graham wasn't in his office. Instead, there sat a woman. A blonde in jeans and a red leather jacket. Her feet were up on the desk and a box of donuts open next to her, one in her hand. She turned towards the door at Belle's call.

Belle's breath caught in her throat. She knew that face. It was impossible. She'd never met the woman before. Not in this world, at least. It was the woman from her story. The one standing beside the king who'd wept when Graeme was brought back to the Castle.

It was impossible.

"Hey, hey you okay there?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," Belle said, smiling as best she could despite the shock running through her. "I'm looking for Graham."

"He's not here," the woman said, standing. "I'm his temporary replacement." She held out her hand. "Emma Swan."

Belle shook her hand. Her grip was firm, confident. "Where is he?"

"Well, he can't very well do his job with a broken arm," Emma said. "So he's at home resting. And I'm covering for him. Is there something you needed?"

"No, it's nothing," Belle said. "I was just looking to talk with him. He's a good friend."

"It's great to meet you then," Emma said.

"Same." Belle smiled. Emma seemed nice enough. "So how did you manage to get drafted to the small town?" she asked.

"It's a personal favor, actually," Emma said. "I'm from Boston—" one point for Ruby "—and Graham asked me to come up."

"You guys were friends?"

"Exes actually. Graham is, uh, my son's father," Emma explained, nodding. "So I brought Henry up to stay with him and I'm covering for him while he gets better."

"Right, of course," Belle said. Ruby hadn't figured _that_ part out.

"Look," Emma said, "I know he's with someone else. And I'm not trying to create drama. I'm just helping him out and bringing his son to see him."

Belle nodded. "Well, I'd have that conversation with Ruby sooner rather than later." She took her leave quickly and hurried from the sheriff's station, her head spinning. Not from the news that Graham's ex and kid were in town, but because there was no doubt that Emma was in her story. How could she create a character based off a woman she hadn't even met yet?

 

* * *

 

Snow and Charming rose before even the faintest hint of dawn was visible over the eastern sea or forests. For the three days since their return, the whole Castle had been in mourning. It seemed you never truly knew how much you were respected until you were dead and gone. Graeme had never fit in with court life. He'd always been an oddity and an outsider. It was only Snow's attachment to him that granted him passage within the Castle walls.

Yet now that he was gone, it seemed he was one of the finest warriors, the most respected, the most missed of the King's garrison. His position of Snow's adopted brother was no longer contested. Rather, it was accepted as absolute truth and all expressed their condolences to the princess for the loss of her last family.

She dressed slowly, letting Charming lace up the back of her black silk dress with clumsy hands. The gown didn't fit her as well as she was accustomed to. That was to be expected—there had only been a few days to make it. The fabric was a little loose around her hips and tight around her shoulders. An improper seam itched at her side. She did up her hair in a simple style—she hadn't wanted help from maids this morning. It was too personal of a time.

"The veil?" Charming asked quietly, dressed in a black suit of his own. Snow nodded. Carefully, her husband pinned the black lace to her head. Reaching up, Snow pulled it over her face. It was the veil both her mother and grandmother had worn for state funerals. Snow had only worn it twice before: once for her mother, and once for her father. And now she wore it for her brother.

She prayed she would not wear it for her husband before many decades more had passed.

While the lament went to the dead man's true love, all his female relatives would be veiled for the ceremony. And here, there would only be three in veils: Snow, Red, and Belle.

 

* * *

 

Red waited for Belle to finish getting ready. She leaned back on Belle's couch and tried to swallow the tears that already threatened to fall. She just had to wait until the beginning of the procession. Then she could cry. She was determined to make it down there dry-eyed.

Belle finished pinning on her veil and turned to Red, who reached forward and drew it down over Belle's face as the other girl did the same to her.

With a terse nod, the two girls left the room. They walked together, not holding hands or arms, but close enough that they brushed against each other every few steps. The whole Castle seemed empty and silent. As if it too had died along with Graeme.

It had been days since Red had stopped questioning why this happened. But she had by no means accepted it. Rather, she'd locked it away and tried and failed not to think of the fact that she'd never see him again. She'd loved him for a few days or weeks and that was all she'd ever have with him. There were no spells to bring back the dead.

The front doors of the Castle were opened for them onto a dark courtyard. The sky was only barely tinged with light. The torches had burnt out sometime in the night. A few smoked a little. With a nod to each other, the girls stepped outside.

 

* * *

 

Soft murmuring rippled among the crowd. Regina supposed that no group of people could remain silent, not even before a funeral. At least it was quiet, respectful. A good illustration of exactly what these same people hadn't shown to Graeme ever before. Her hatred for Graeme's closest friends didn't make Regina heartless. She had proper respect for the man, as both a comrade and friend. Enough respect to remain silent as she watched the crowd gathering along the street.

Funerals were a strange tradition. Each person's role was almost cemented more than it would be in a wedding or any other ceremony. There wasn't even reason—it was simply the way things were. Already, each person was making his way to his appointed place.

If only this ceremony weren't so familiar. Such was the effect of war.

Regina scanned the crowd of black silk and velvet. She knew each person there, their secrets, their aspirations. She made it her business to know. After all, magic could only get her so far. But the knowledge of a person? In the right circumstances it could be priceless. The man across from her was here for appearances, the woman next to him was crying tears she didn't mean in hopes to catch the sympathy (and jealousy) of her current beau. Another cared—a little, at least enough to show up. The woman in the corner actually wished to bid the Huntsman farewell, but would never admit it.

There was another: the woman from their arrival. Her blonde hair was loose again, a longer, more ceremonial sword at her side. It had taken time and a little money here and there, but Regina had learned what she could. Her name was Lady Emma of Anorien. She'd come only weeks before to replace the former Captain of the Guard. She'd known Graeme as a child, thus winning her a place in his funeral procession. She was reserved, but had the reputation as a strict and fair captain and a capable warrior.

Yet there was something… off about her. Regina let her eyes slide to the next person before her stare was noticed. Still, she would keep her eyes on this new Captain.

 

* * *

 

The former-Captain Hook stood beside Graeme's coffin, attempting to look anywhere but at it. His coat didn't hang right on his shoulders. The leather had been confiscated the day before for cleaning and had been returned stiff and without its customary layer of dust.

He was surprised that he was even standing here, in this courtyard before dawn, waiting for the final members of the procession to show up. Considering his status as a convict, he thought he would be lucky to even attend the funeral. The invitation to help bear the coffin through the city was completely unexpected. It was an honor. And not the sort of honor Hook would accept while making fun of it or planning to sell it for rum, but the true sort of honor that touched him with the reminder that perhaps not everyone wanted to lock him in the brig.

In front of him stood Charming, who was looking around pensively like most of the crowd. Snow stood a ways back, as tradition dictated. Her place would be behind Belle and Red. Of the other four men carrying the coffin, he only knew Frederick.

The Castle doors opened. Belle and Red emerged, the last to arrive. They walked in step with one another as only long-time friends and comrades could do so naturally. Hook tried to catch their eyes, but both stared resolutely forward, their gaze only truly seeing the space in front of them. Seeing was no more than an automatic necessity of walking. Behind them, the doors to the Castle shut with a hollow sound just as the sky began to lighten with the dawn.

 

* * *

 

Silence fell over the courtyard, and for a moment, it seemed that the whole world paused, leaning just over the brink of a cliff. Places had already been assumed. The coffin lifted. The murmuring ceased. In a moment, the world would un-pause and the funeral would begin, not as a fall into empty space, but a slow march on cobblestones that only felt like a free-fall because of the identity and absence of the man in the coffin.

Belle took a deep breath.

The first note stuck in her throat. Its harsh tone and sound having to cut through her body's physical resistance to letting it go. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry like honey left out so long that had begun to gel and harden. Another deep breath. Her need for a second try was understandable to the crowd, though still she could feel her neck begin to redden.

No one expected the lament to be sung well, only that it would be sung with feeling.

This time the song came:

" _Bealocwealm hafadh froene…"_

In time with the song, the procession stepped forward. And stepped again. Belle forced her wooden legs to move, aware of Red's presence just behind her. She focused her attention on the song, trying not to think of how it should be Red's, not hers.

The lament wasn't long. Simply the same four lines, repeated on the same cold, haunting melody. " _And maga deorost, baelo._ _"_ It finished for the first time just as the procession left the courtyard into the streets of the Castle's miniature town.

Just as when they'd returned home, the streets were lined with silent people, dressed in black. Their faces were solemn, but there were few tears. Graeme was not well-known among the people. He was another soldier to them—an important enough one that their appearance was warranted, but not enough for their tears. Belle tore her eyes from them. The song. Only the song.

The reason for the lament came to her as she sang, eyes fixed ahead at the wooden box in front of her. The lament was what carried her through the procession, much as the men carried the coffin. Without the song, she would have nothing to focus on. The words and melody were just tricky enough to require most of her attention—it was a distraction, a channel for her grief. It wasn't a performance, it was a handkerchief of sorts. A vessel to catch her tears.

Each step seemed an age apart, yet seemed to pass in flashes of awareness. An eternity was compressed to moments between the keep's gate and the turn before the front gate. Instead of passing through it, the procession followed the outer wall of the Castle. It sloped down, down towards the restless sea and the crashing waters.

" _Giedd sculon singan gleomenn sorgiende on Meduselde…"_

Belle's voice rose above the sound of the sea. The song was such that it could still be sung no matter how many tears gathered in the back of the singer's throat. The road descended from the main one, spiraling down the cliff face towards the waters. The stone path was pristine—undamaged by wagon wheels and horses and the dust swept from it by the hems of too many black gowns.

The path leveled off about a story's drop below the Castle. It came to end there. The procession turned and entered the door in the cliff face. The entrance to the King's Mausoleum.

It was an honor to be buried there. One given to the best warriors and the King's own kin. Belle didn't like to think of the various political reasons that had granted Graeme a spot here rather than in the common graveyard.

The mausoleum itself was dimly lit by torches—much like the dungeons. The difference was that these walls were lined with smooth marble rather than rough-cut stone. More care was afforded to the accommodations for the dead than the living.

Belle's voice echoed off the stone. The reverberations made her single voice seem like a chorus, full and deep. Not the choked mess it truly was.

" _And maga deorost, baelo._ _"_ A breath. _"Bealocwealm…"_

The procession came to a stop just as the lament started again. Belle clasped her hands together tightly and resisted the urge to close her eyes as Graeme was laid in one of the alcoves.

" _Thaet he ma no waere his dryhtne dyrest. And maga deorost, baelo._ _"_

The last note rang in the silence of the mausoleum.

_Farewell Graeme. Rest in peace._


	30. A Struggle Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions  
> Oh let's go back to the start…  
> Nobody said it was easy  
> No one ever said it would be this hard  
> Oh take me back to the start
> 
> ~"The Scientist", Coldplay

It would be a lie to say that writing Graeme's funeral was easy for Belle. That she simply went about her day afterwards, glad to have written what had been so long in the making.

No—instead she'd spent the rest of her evening curled up on her couch with a blanket, silently mourning and watching mediocre television in hopes of distracting herself. There was simply too much in her head. Some of it was sadness over her story—after months spent with her characters, their emotional hold over her was astonishing, as if they were real people. Some was confusion over Gold and Rum—who'd been noticeably and infuriatingly absent these past two weeks since she'd entered the Pawn Shop. It was taking its toll on her. Balancing her work and friends and life had been a challenge before this story had come and taken everything over. She barely spoke to her friends anymore and if anyone bothered to pay closer attention to the library, she'd surely have been fired by now.

But most of all the thing that bothered her was Emma Swan. The woman she'd imagined and then met.

Belle had spent hours before writing the scene scrolling through lists and lists of names. Anything besides Emma for this character. But nothing else fit. There wasn't even a "good enough". Anything except Lady Emma felt wrong. So there she was, left with her new character: Lady Emma, an old friend of Graeme who had come to the Castle for his funeral and wasn't sure how long she'd stay.

And the worst part was that Belle had come up with all that—not just the name—before she'd even met Emma Swan, back when she was writing the company's return to the Castle.

She knew what Mr. Gold would say to all this: it only further went to prove that he was correct. That there really was a Lady Emma in a parallel world that Belle could somehow see. That her counterpart had appeared in the real world—or was it a cursed world?—simply because she'd shown up in the story.

There wasn't much she could do. The story wanted what the story wanted. She'd learned her lesson trying to go against it. To think that she had once thought Snow White was the main character! All she could do was write and hope that it would all turn out fine.

Her phone rang, nearly falling off the windowsill. Belle rolled her chair across the floor to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Friday night at seven," Ruby said quickly. "You're coming."

"To what?"

Ruby sighed as if she had the right to be exasperated that Belle couldn't read minds. "Mary Margaret's having a bunch of people over. I don't care what you think you're doing, you're coming."

"What if I have plans?" Belle asked, a little irritated. Granted, the feeling was mostly due to her writing. She was more than used to Ruby's orders.

"You don't. Everyone's coming to Mary Margaret's." Ruby paused. "Well, everyone worth hanging out with is—wait you're not going somewhere with Geoffrey, are you?"

"No!" Belle nearly shouted. "No, I was just saying that you can't always assume I'm not doing anything."

"You spend most of your time writing, Belle. It's a safe assumption."

"Fine." Belle sighed and slumped back in her chair. "I'll be there."

 

* * *

 

A page knocked on the door, startling Snow. She'd retreated to a remote, unused room of the Castle in hopes of avoiding people. It seemed they had found her. It wasn't like her to seek out solitude. Yet the state of mourning that still hung over the Castle's inhabitants weighed on her.

"The King requests your presence in his study, Your Highness," the page said.

Snow followed him from the room and down the stone corridors. She knew the way, but didn't mind him leading in her distracted state. Red was distraught. She had found love and then lost it just as quickly. As for Belle, her grief was quieter, but Snow could see it there. The rest skirted around the three of them—Graeme's sweethearts and sister. But Snow White wouldn't shatter easily. She didn't need to be approached like delicate china. She was grieving, but that didn't mean she was broken.

The page opened the door and bowed as Snow entered the King's study. Charming stood there behind the desk. He smiled when he saw her, relief on his face as well as the light that came to his eyes whenever he looked at her. Of the whole Castle, her husband was the only one she could bear to be around. He didn't act as if she might explode at any moment.

"Princess," King George said, displeasure etched in the grooves of his face. "Kind of you to finally join us."

"I will not let you exclude her, father," Charming said. "She has as much say as I do here."

The King's frown deepened. "As you like it." He sat without inviting Snow or Charming to follow suit. They did anyway, wary of the king's foul temper.

"Now is the time to finally decide," King George said. "I trust that you have given thought to your replacement?"

The memory took a moment to return to Snow. She looked to Charming, whose eyes darkened after a moment in comprehension.

"That's what this is about? My replacement?" His voice was bitter. He laughed. "Yes, Father, that's what I've been thinking about lately. One of my men is dead and I've been thinking about judging between the others."

"You were under strict instruction when you left over the purpose of the mission—"

"Yes, I know. I know that no matter my choice, someone will be hurt." Charming sighed. Snow reached over and took his hand, silently supporting him. "It's too soon. Graeme hasn't been in his grave for a week. Give us a few more months, another mission—"

"No."

"I cannot do this to them now. The purpose of the mission has been long forgotten. I can't bring it up now."

"Give us a few weeks, even," Snow added. "Just enough time to finish grieving."

King George stood. "It's too late for that. A masked ball will be held one week from tomorrow. You will announce your decision there." He began to walk towards the door. Charming rose, stepping to stop him.

"Father—"

"Have your choice ready. Princess Belle or Lady Regina," the King said. "And for the sake of us all, don't let your company show up in black."

 

* * *

 

Belle didn't bother to go home after work on Friday. She let herself into Mary Margaret's apartment with the spare key hidden behind the hallway window shutters.

"I'm here!" she called, dropping her laptop bag on the sofa so she could take off her coat.

"So am I!" David called from the back closet. He came out to the kitchen with a grin and a paper bag of flour. "Mary Margaret will be home soon," he said. "She's just finishing up some grading at school."

"So she left us to clean up?" Belle laughed. There was something about having David around that lightened everything. Her burdens over writing and reality seemed less. She didn't have to tell him her troubles or even acknowledge them. He was simply comforting like that.

"Actually, we're making pie." He held up the flour. "The idea is that if we make it, she'll have time to clean up after us once she gets home."

Belle laughed and joined David in the kitchen. He handed her the recipe. "Apple?" she asked. "In February?"

"I don't question, I just make what she tells me."

"Alright then. Do you want the crust or the apples?"

"Crust. I'll eat the apples," he said, winking as he reached around her to grab a mixing bowl. Belle laughed, shaking her head, and took an apple from the bag on the counter and a knife from the drawer.

"So how's life?" David asked. "Anything new at the library?"

"Thankfully, no." Belle dumped the apple slices into another bowl. "We had enough excitement earlier this winter."

"And your writing?" The question was harmless, casual, yet Belle couldn't help the spark of panic that struck her. Carefully, she swallowed her emotion before she spoke.

"It's alright. Difficult as always."

He frowned in sympathy. "What's wrong with it?"

"I'm just a little stuck, that's all," Belle lied. "The current chapter is giving me difficulties. I'll get through it."

If David picked up on the lie, he didn't mention it. All the same, they fell into silence, a companionable one, good for working. Belle peeled each apple carefully so as not to nick her fingers. David somehow managed to get more flour on himself than in the bowl—an effect only worsened when he began to stir the ingredients together.

"David?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah?"

"What if you weren't sure what was real?" she asked. It was hard to speak the words, knowing what sort of questions they'd raise. But she couldn't do this alone. She couldn't figure out this mess. It was all too confusing.

"What do you mean?" He turned to her, leaning his hip against the counter.

"Like…" Belle took a breath. She couldn't just come out and say it. That she was starting to consider Gold's claim. "What if there was someone and you thought you knew who they were, but then it turned out that they were something else?"

"You have a friend who's secretly a dragon?" David asked, laughing a little. Belle shook her head. _Something like that_ , she thought.

"No—it's just, I can't tell if I just really didn't know him at all, or if this is some elaborate excuse to stop me from being angry."

"Do you trust this person?"

"Yes—no—I don't know." She cut the last apple with a little more force than necessary and dumped it in the bowl with the others.

"Have you talked with him about this?"

"No," Belle admitted. "I kinda snapped at him and ran out."

David smirked, laughing a little. Before he could say anything, the front door flew open.

"The party has arrived!" Ruby called. David gave Belle an apologetic smile and turned to Ruby. It was a wonder she hadn't frozen on the way over—Belle never understood how she could wear skirts so short in the middle of winter.

"You didn't see Mary Margaret on the way over did you?" he asked.

Ruby shook her head. "Killian said he'd be a little late though. I saw him an hour or two ago. Said something about a gig or something."

Nodding, David turned back to the pie crust he was supposed to be making.

"Is there any way I can help?" Ruby asked, coming to join them in the kitchen.

"Actually, can you do me a favor?" Belle asked. She nodded to the couch. "Could you save the open files on my laptop? I think it's going to run out of battery before I get home."

"Mary Margaret has a charger upstairs," David offered. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you borrowed it."

Ruby nodded, getting the laptop bag from the couch and slinging it over her shoulder. "Do you still want me to save the files?" she asked.

"If you would," Belle said, nodding. Ruby headed up the stairs and Belle turned back to David. He looked at her, a crease of worry above his eyes.

"I don't know the whole situation," he said softly so that his voice wouldn't carry upstairs, "but I think you should give him a chance to explain. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

"But—" Belle tried to protest, her anger and confusion all rushing back.

"A chance, that's all. If he can't defend himself, then give it up. But at least give him a chance."

Belle nodded. "Alright."

"Good." David grinned. "Now stop worrying and relax for the night, okay?" He winked and reached over to take an apple slice from the bowl, popping it in his mouth. Belle rolled her eyes, but grinned. Perhaps David was right. Perhaps there was more. It couldn't hurt to let Gold explain himself more, could it?

 

* * *

 

"Still sitting here?"

Belle looked up to see Hook standing beside her. She'd been seated in the hall outside the King's study for nearly an hour. And yet the door had shown no sign of opening even though she'd knocked several times.

"So it seems," she said with a small smile. The summons had come that morning. The King wished to speak with her. "You came back."

"Had to check on you," he said. He looked over the closed doors. "Whatever His Majesty has to tell you must not be urgent."

"Indeed."

A grin came over the pirate's face. "You'd have the time if you wished to return to your chamber and change."

"Not a chance." Although Charming and Snow had warned her against wearing mourning clothes, she had no intention of wearing anything else. The rest of the Castle might consider Graeme's death old news, but that didn't stop her heart from grieving.

"A rebel, dare I say?" Hook asked, lightly scratching at his face with the side of his hook. "Perhaps I'll have a companion when I return to the high seas."

Belle scoffed. "My attempts at subversion are much more refined, I assure you." She was able to hold a straight face for only a moment before a grin took over. Hook returned the expression, glancing down at the floor and shaking his head a bit.

"There's that smile, love."

"His Majesty will see you now, my Lady," a page said, emerging from the study. Belle gave Hook a nod and he slipped off down the hall. As much as he wanted to support her, neither did he fancy calling attention to himself. More time before his eventual dungeon, as he said.

Belle smoothed down the skirts of her black gown. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room. To her surprise, another man stood behind the desk. He was tall with a rather square face, handsome enough—at least by the standards of the court—yet he carried himself too straight, too stiff, too proud. He gave Belle a bow. Unsure what to do, she nodded, then turned to face the King.

"Is there a reason for my patience?" she asked briskly.

"Princess Belle," King George replied, as cold as ever. "This is Sir Gaston of Firthana."

"A pleasure," he said with an attempt at a smile his stiff face couldn't quite pull off. Belle didn't even bother to respond. Her back hurt from sitting for so long on a wooden bench against a stone wall. And this Gaston didn't seem to be reason enough for such a thing.

"Gaston, allow me to present your bride-to-be, Princess Belle of Avonlea," the King continued.

Belle felt as though her entire body had turned to stone. It was some miracle that allowed thin streams air to continue to flow shallowly in and out of her lungs. Her gaze fixed on Sir Gaston with a new lens. His clothes were perfectly pressed. His eyes were shallow and rather empty. His hands were calloused from battle, without any subtle or gentle inclination. His eyebrows were approaching caterpillars in their bushiness. His jaw clenched not in emotion, but as a natural state of being. He towered above her in height. He could probably crush her without effort. Actually, he might put in effort. Or perhaps—

"Princess?" King George asked, a hateful satisfaction is his voice that ripped Belle's mind from panic. She hated to owe him her calm of mind.

"You can't do this," she snapped, turning from the knight to face the king.

He merely laughed. "I think you'll find I can do many things," he said. "Arranging the marriage of a fatherless book-wench being one of the simpler ones."

"Graeme's funeral was a week ago," Belle said, trying to keep her voice steady despite her anger and frustration and humiliation. She was no object to be traded off because no one else had claimed her. "It would a dishonor to his memory."

"He was your comrade, not your fiancé," the King said. "There is no dishonor. And you have no place to object."

"And you cannot force me, Your Majesty. I refuse to marry a man I do not know, especially when I still grieve my first love." _And while I am in love with the Sorcerer_ , her mind added.

"Cannot force you? I think you'll find that it won't have to come to that." Slowly, the King walked around the desk. "But I can tell you what would happen if you refuse this."

"And what would that be?" Belle asked, a sick feeling growing in the back of her throat no matter how steady she managed to keep her voice.

"Your pirate? His appointment with the gallows could be moved up to tomorrow morning. Your friend, Red? Her dirty little 'secret' could find its way into the ears of the court. She's not a noblewoman. That's bad enough. But a werewolf is a little too much to allow, don't you think? Your Prince and the rest of your company? With a snap of my fingers they could be reassigned to the front lines."

"You wouldn't. He's your son," Belle objected.

"And he's your commander, your friend." The King shook his head. "Don't test me on this. You know I will not hesitate to make true on my word."

Belle couldn't speak. Before her eyes, the scenes played out in her mind. Her friends dead, outcast.

"The engagement will be announced immediately," King George told Gaston. "That will give you the chance to appear together at the ball."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Gaston said.

"And truly," the King said, looking straight at Belle. "I wish you every happiness together."

 

* * *

It had been far too long since they'd had everyone together. Mary Margaret and David had been busy with their engagement, Killian with his gigs, and Belle with her book. The night passed quickly for Ruby. Falling back into their friendship was easy. Laughter and conversation filled Mary Margaret's apartment until late into the night. Eventually, Killian left, Belle following soon after. Ruby soon made her excuse and pulled on her coat, fingers clasping around the cool metal flash drive in her pocket.

Granny had long closed up the diner and gone to sleep by the time Ruby let herself in. After checking to make sure the old woman was truly asleep, Ruby settled in on the couch and plugged the flash drive into her computer. The only document on it opened. A twinge of guilt nagged at her—these words weren't for her eyes. Yet the opportunity had been there. Belle had asked her to save her open files. Having one in particular also saved to Ruby's memory stick wasn't what she'd had in mind.

But Ruby was worried. She'd been for a long time. This story was too powerful, too consuming. It was everything that Belle did. Then more recently, it had been more than that. The characters were clearly similar to real life, but it seemed Belle thought of it as more than mere similarity. And she looked so tired all the time. Ill, really.

So when it came down to it, Ruby didn't have a choice. She had to do this. For Belle's own good.

_Once upon a time there was a princess_ _…_

 

* * *

 

From the outside, the Pawn Shop was just another building on the street of a little town no one had ever heard of. It was neither in disrepair nor pristine condition. It simply was. Slightly faded gold lettering on the sign. Dust on the tops of the blinds. Tarnish on the door handle. A crack near the edge of one of the glass panes. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Belle had walked past it often enough, but it seemed she'd never really stopped to look at the shop itself. She was always peering in, hoping to meet the eye of the man inside. A thorough examination of the storefront was in no way necessary before entry.

Yet there she was, standing outside for nearly fifteen minutes.

Before—the first time she'd entered the place—she'd barged right in. Fear and anger and confusion had obliterated any nervousness. This was different. Sure, she was still scared and angry and confused, but it wasn't overpowering like it had been. There was a cold, wet feeling in her stomach. No, it wasn't simply the weather. It was like dread, but more flaccid, less heavy.

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment, Belle yanked open the door.

Nothing had changed from the last time she'd been there. It was the same shop filled with the same trinkets and the same dull light that barely filtered through the front windows. And the same man stood behind the same counter with the same expression that had been on his face when she'd run from his shop nearly three weeks before.

Three weeks. Three weeks of confusion and frustration and yet of extraordinary clarity. Because no matter where she looked it all pointed back to this shop. Back to Mr. Gold. Back to Rumpelstiltskin.

"I don't understand," she said.

"I don't expect that you would." His voice was soft, but with a hint of humor. The same hint that was always in Rum's voice.

"I don't believe you. Not yet at least."

"You're here."

"Yeah," Belle said softly, looking down at her shoes and laughing a little. "I am." She stepped forward, closer to where he stood behind the counter. "I don't believe—but I don't disbelieve either, you know? It's a lot to take in."

"And I can explain more," he said, his eyes tracking her movements carefully as she stepped around the counter.

"You still say the story is true?" she asked. "About Cora and Zoso and my book?"

"Every word," he said, nodding. "Every word and more."

She stopped just in front of him. Even with her heels she had to look up a little to meet his eyes. They were wide and wary, barely concealing his discomfort at losing control of the situation.

"You'll tell me more?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Anything you ask."

Belle nodded and took a deep breath. "Then I'll listen," she said softly. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. His arms came around her back softly, tentatively. And they met in a soft kiss that felt at once wonderfully new and achingly familiar.


	31. A Grand Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masquerade!  
> Paper faces on parade  
> Masquerade!  
> Hide your face  
> So the world will never find you!
> 
> ~"Masquerade", Phantom of the Opera

Naturally, over the course of months, Gold had come to memorize when Belle walked past his shop each day. And since their kiss, he had vowed that there would be a reason to be out of sight whenever she passed.

Kissing her had been reckless. No, not only reckless: stupid. Same for agreeing to tell her the truth. The more she knew, the more danger she was in. He couldn't protect her from both Cora and Zoso. They were already suspicious. He should be lying low, keeping his distance. Not giving in to her.

Yet she had come back. After so long without her, so long of missing her, surely keeping the necessary distance from her was an impossible feat. Perhaps not for a hero, or some man stronger that he. But for Gold, it was all he could do to let her out of his sight.

 

* * *

 

"I'm tempted to wear black simply out of spite," Snow muttered. Charming laughed as he pulled their door closed behind them. While the idea of a ball had been well-received by the court in general, Snow had been less than pleased. Charming could understand. Graeme had been dear to all of them. Personally, he preferred outright apathy to pretended grief.

"You look lovely," he said, resting a hand on her back as they walked through the corridor.

She smiled, and with a twist in her grin said, "So do you."

At the top of the stairs, he stopped, an idea forming in his mind.

"What is it?" Snow asked. He grinned at her.

"Maybe we can't wear black," he said, "but I doubt Father would approve if we were to…" He let his words trail off and nodded to the staircase. Snow's eyes brightened in recognition of his thought. She laughed, shaking her head a little.

"That definitely wouldn't be approved of." There was a smile in her eyes and voice that he hadn't seen in a while.

"Then I'll catch you at the bottom."

He spun on his heel and jumped onto the polished banister. There was a rush of adrenaline as his feet and hands let go and he was sliding down, down, down, faster and faster towards the stone floor of the entrance hall.

At the bottom, he turned to face the staircase. Snow grinned before also sitting on the banister and then letting go. The skirt of her gown billowed and the air caught in the loose strands of her hair and the ribbons of her mask. She was beautiful—so much that Charming nearly got lost watching her slide towards him.

She came sailing off the rail and into his waiting arms. He spun her around and her hands came to grip his shoulders, her eyes bright. Perhaps this ball wouldn't be a loss completely. Even if his decision on his successor angered some and even if it had been nearly impossible to make, perhaps the night would not be a complete loss. After all, his wife had smiled.

 

* * *

 

Belle fished for the last book in the drop box, struggling not to drop the stack already in her arms. Working seemed rather alien. Work. She was probably in a fake, curse-induced world and her story was real and she'd _kissed Mr. Gold_. And she still woke up at seven o'clock to go stack books and help the middle-aged patrons of the Storybrooke library find something to read.

It felt surreal.

Surely the world should have changed. Surely there should have been some sort of grand difference between then and now. But the shelves still needed dusting and there was gum under the tables and someone had left another raccoon—thankfully it was outside the drop box this time and not in it.

Getting the door open while holding a stack of books had become a well-practiced art. The one on the top of the stack nearly fell, but Belle caught it at the last moment.

"Having trouble there?" a drawling voice asked. Killian was spread out at his usual table, plugging in his laptop and smirking at her.

Belle set the books down on the circulation desk. "I'm fine."

"Course you are." He came to lean on the desk across from her. She ignored him, starting to check the books into the system. Because that's what she usually did. Ignore him. Right. "Now, how about you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" The system was so familiar, so automatic to her that it felt as if she didn't know it at all now that she was actually thinking through the process. Had she really known this? Why did everything seem both dull and clear, old and new all at once?

He gave his most charming grin. "The WiFi password?"

"Killian Jones is a moron, no spaces or capitals." Someone had spilled coffee on the next paperback. Belle set it aside. She'd check the damage after she shelved these—

"Belle?"

"Yeah?" The screen took a moment to reload for the next book.

"Belle!" Killian snapped.

She looked up from the screen. "What?"

He looked scared, worried. "Are you alright?" he asked, searching her face.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You just gave me the WiFi password."

"I—what?" No, that was the first rule. Killian did not get the WiFi password. If he wanted internet, he could hack it. She never gave him the password. But he was walking over with his computer all the same. He brought it back to the desk and set it up so she could see. He clicked "connect to WiFi". The password box came up. He typed and hit "enter". _Connection successful_.

Belle swallowed. "I… I guess I'm a bit out of it today," she said slowly. No, no. She hadn't realized how much this was affecting her. She hadn't meant—

"Are you sure?" Killian asked, his forehead creasing.

"Yeah." She forced a smile. "It's been a long few days. And I'll be changing the password this afternoon, mark my words."

"I'd expect nothing less, love." With a flourish he swept up his computer and returned to his table. Belle took a deep breath. How long before everyone knew what was truly happening here?

 

* * *

 

For the fourth time, Belle adjusted the pins in her hair. It wasn't that they hadn't been perfect before, no, she was stalling now.

"M'Lady, we really must go," Hook said, looking nervously out into the hall. He'd been standing in the doorway since the ball started twenty minutes before, watching Belle as she found more unsatisfactory parts of her appearance. Her curls weren't perfectly in place. There was an invisible smudge on the gold fabric of her dress. There was a loose string in the embroidery around the neckline. One of the white beads on her mask was falling off.

Belle sighed. A few months ago, Graeme would have been in Hook's place. Actually, he would have been standing behind her or lying on her couch, no more interested in being on time than she. Now, it should have been Rum. She hadn't seen him since before the funeral. It was too dangerous to come, she supposed. She missed him. More than she'd thought she would. Somehow, in the forest, the idea of being apart had seemed bearable. It wasn't. Sure, she could carry on with life and pretend nothing was wrong, but there was still an ache in her chest and her mind wondered where he was.

"Belle." Hook dropped the formality, sounding more insistent. "You cannot delay forever. His Majesty will notice."

"And what can he do to me? Make more threats?" she scoffed.

"You don't want to know the answer to that question," Hook said quietly. Belle looked at him curiously. His expression was closed off, his arms crossed over his chest. "Come on," he said, more softly. "You look beautiful."

Belle took his arm. She noticed someone had washed the dirt of the road off his leather coat and he wore a plain, fresh shirt. His own form of rebellion.

They heard the music before they saw it. A full orchestra, playing a waltz. The grand sort that didn't take exertion to dance to and allowed the nobility to strut as they did so. The doors to the ballroom were open wide, flooding the dim corridor with light. The high windows were open for cool air and starlight. Under the silvery light of the stars and the ceiling's will-o'-the-wisps, hundreds of nobles in silken gowns and velvet capes twirled around.

With a deep breath, Belle accompanied Hook down the stairs to the floor of the room. The moment her shoes touched the bottom step, Sir Gaston appeared, seizing her arm and pulling her out onto the dance floor.

"You're late," he snapped, twirling her into the dance. Belle scrambled to keep from losing her balance. "What took you so long? You missed the first dance."

"I was busy," Belle replied as sweetly as she could, simply to infuriate him more. "There's no reason for you to be angry. It's not as if you asked me to be here." He'd assumed. That was worse.

"Tonight is supposed to be our first appearance, Belle," he said. "You're not starting things off well."

"I'm sorry our coerced marriage isn't everything you dreamed of."

Gaston's face darkened and he spun her again with more force than necessary. They danced in stony silence, each move full of power and tension nearly to the point of pain. Of course he couldn't hurt her. He was knight of the King's court and this was a public place. Belle gave back as much as she got, thankful for her training as a swordsman. At first her strength surprised him, then it angered him.

"May I cut in?"

Gaston stopped abruptly and Belle ran into his chest, unprepared to stop her momentum. Charming appeared unfazed by the tension between the newly betrothed couple. In fact, he looked rather too pleasant, too friendly.

"If it pleases your Highness," Gaston said, grudgingly, dropping Belle's hands as if she was on fire.

With a nod, Charming led Belle into the dance, his friendly expression fading. "It's almost time," he said. "I'll call you and Regina up to the front once this dance is over."

Belle nodded. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"My pleasure, as always." Charming smiled gently. "Sir Gaston is a brute." He shook his head and sighed. "I may not have the power to do anything now, but once I'm king, I'll grant you a divorce the day of my coronation."

"And I'll take it," Belle said. She left unsaid the other option: that she might not be around for that day to come. Still a small part of her heart hoped that Rum would come in and save her, spirit her away to his home, away from the war and the court. Though it would pain her to leave her people to the ogres, as the wife of Sir Gaston she wouldn't be helping them anyway.

"Where's Snow?"

"Sitting with Red, last I saw," Charming said.

"Is Red alright?"

"No more than can be expected. It's too soon for a ball." Charming spun her around as the dance came to a close.

"Are you ready for this?" Belle asked. Charming shook his head. Offering his arm, he led her to the dais at the front of the room. Regina and King George greeted them there, the former offering a cold smile. The crowd in the ballroom began to murmur, wondering why the next song had not started. Belle squeezed Charming's hand and stepped back beside Regina.

"My Lords and my Ladies." The King's voice echoed off the walls as the crowd fell silent. "Although this is a night of celebration and merriment for us all, it is also a chance to make an announcement. My son, Prince James, has decided that it is time to leave active duty in the war. Instead, he will remain at the Castle and begin training for the crown he will one day inherit."

Applause throughout the ballroom. Belle found Red and Snow sitting at the side of the room. Snow's face was hard, angry almost. Red merely looked wilted, too sodden with tears to look any happier than doleful.

"In accordance with his Highness' decision, he will pass down the leadership of his company. Although his service will be missed, he and I agree that this change will be for the eventual good of us all." With a stern nod to Charming, the King stepped back.

Charming stepped forward. "My—" He cleared his throat nervously. "My place as leader of the company is not easy to give away. And with careful consideration—if she will have it—it goes too…" He glanced back at Belle and Regina. "Princess Belle of Avonlea."

The ballroom was silent for a moment. Then a whistle—unmistakably Hook's—broke the silence and the court applauded politely. Belle stood, shocked. She risked a glance sideways at Regina, only to be met by fury in the sorceress' eyes.

 

* * *

 

Keeping a grin off her face while writing in public was a struggle. Belle simply loved the story too much. And she'd given up trying to figure out what it truly was—story, reality, whatever. Thinking of the proper word for it made her brain hurt. So "story" it was.

"Having fun there?" Ruby asked, setting another iced tea down in front of her.

Belle nodded, her fingers continuing to type away at her keyboard. Perhaps writing at the diner had been a poor choice. Ruby had spent the last hour staring at her on and off, a worried crease in her forehead. Okay, perhaps Belle was a little bit obsessed. But she could feel the end approaching. She couldn't slow down now.

"How are the characters doing?" Ruby asked, leaning her hip against the booth across from Belle, who looked up briefly to make sure Ruby actually meant the question.

"Fine," she said slowly, her hands dropping from the keyboard to her lap. "I mean, the plot's picking up, so of course things are hard for them—why do you ask?"

"Nothing." Ruby shrugged innocently. "Just taking interest."

Belle nodded slowly. Ruby didn't move.

"So everything's fine?"

"Yeah?"

"You sure?"

Belle bit her lip, wracking her story-filled mind for anything Ruby might be looking for. "Uh. Yeah. Everything's great. I've been writing. Working. Sleeping. I kissed Mr. Gold. Writing more."

"You _what?!_ _"_

Belle's eyes widened as she thought over the words she'd just said. She kissed Mr. Gold. Somehow that fact had gotten lost between Red's grief and the apparent non-reality of her world.

"I didn't tell you about that?" she asked, trying to cover her guilt with a grin. Ruby only glared, sitting down across from her and closing her laptop screen.

"Spill. Now."

So much for her writing. The words itched at Belle's fingers, desperate to be free. But it seemed Ruby had other ideas.

 

* * *

 

Belle didn't bother to keep track of who she danced with. Her movements were memorized, a matter of mindlessly following, not truly dancing. Leader of the company. What had Charming been thinking? He _knew_ how much Regina wanted the position. True, she was unstable and rather power hungry and probably would do a terrible job leading. But Belle hadn't wanted this. She'd wanted her library and to stay out of the field. She didn't want another mission out into the wilderness—especially not one without her closest friends and comrades.

Yet could this be her salvation? If she was the leader of a scouting company, would she still have to marry? Perhaps this was her ticket out. Once she was out in the forest, Rum could come to her again. Could it work? Maybe?

And really, would it be worth Regina's wrath?

She was so lost in thought, she barely noticed when her partner left her on the side of the dance floor, going off to dance with someone interested in him.

 

* * *

 

Red slumped against the wall of the ballroom. She had moved to sit on the steps near the door, giving her a view of the room and removing her from the heat of the dance floor. She saw Snow and Charming dancing together. They were as entwined as most of the couples, but somehow seemed closer. It was the tenderness of his hands guiding her and the way she looked up to meet his eyes as they spoke softly.

It was something Red had lost the chance for.

She felt as if a part of her had died. Though she had only been in love for a few weeks, Graeme had been her friend much longer than that. He hadn't been as close to her as Belle or Snow, but one couldn't trek through wilderness for years on end without growing close. Her heart felt heavy, her limbs clumsy and unable to move.

Once again, her gaze returned to Belle. Her friend had also been subdued all night. They hadn't talked much lately. It seemed that Belle had been avoiding her, ever since she'd been given the lament to sing. As much as Red loved Graeme, the lament had belonged to Belle. Yet there had seemed to be more than simply polite hesitation when Belle had tried to refuse. Certainly that hadn't come from her newly announced engagement.

Regina came to sit next to Red on the step, drawing her attention from Belle. The sorceress' movements were as graceful as ever, but there was a harsh brusqueness to them. With effort, Red turned to look at her. Regina's eyes blazed with fury. Her features betrayed none of it, but no amount of self-control could keep it from her eyes. Eyes that were focused on Belle.

 

* * *

 

Belle didn't know how many dances she sat out. Her fiancé stood with some other knights across the room, laughing uproariously. He had claimed his few dances and then left her without a word. If it had been someone else, Belle might have been hurt by the indifference. But this was Sir Gaston. She couldn't be more pleased to be rid of his company.

"May I have this dance?"

Her breath caught in her throat. He _didn_ _'t_.

His mask and coat were red and gold—the finest fabrics. For some reason, no one seemed to notice the texture of his skin or any of his other oddities. In fact, no one seemed to notice him at all. His hand was extended, the eyes behind his mask bright, playful.

Even as she reached forward, she knew it was a bad idea. This was too dangerous. He shouldn't be here. Not right under the eyes of the king and the court. Not with her company around. Yet she took his hand and it was warm and familiar in hers. He led her to the floor and spun her into the dance.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered as he pulled her back to him. His hand seemed to burn against her back—or perhaps that was simply her excitement. He shouldn't be here, yet nothing could be more perfect.

"Many ideas are bad ideas, dearie."

Smiling, she shook her head. "Where did you learn to dance?"

"At a ball, a long time ago," he said. She spun out again and when she finished, he was there to catch her. Perhaps it was the time without him, perhaps it was simply that she'd fallen in love. Somehow the ball didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

 

* * *

 

"Who _is_ that?"

Red looked up. Her eyes had been mindlessly tracing the veins in the marble floor. "What?"

"That man." Once again, Regina was staring at Belle, who was now dancing, much to Red's surprise. "Who is he?"

"I don't know." Red looked back down at the floor. Keeping her head up took too much energy. Sitting here was strenuous. She wanted to slip away, go off to bed. If only she had the strength to do so.

"I've never seen him before," Regina continued. "And there's something off… it's like he's a sorcerer… there's magic all around him." She began to mutter in some ancient language. Red looked up again. There wasn't anything off that she could see. He was just another masked man in fine clothing dancing with a woman. A woman with a look on her face that was more joyful than Red could remember seeing—

"A glamour," Regina announced. "He's using a glamour."

"A what?" Red wasn't paying attention to Regina anymore. Her gaze was fixed on Belle. How her smile lit up her face and eyes so much that it was evident through her mask. What had happened to Graeme? Was it not only a week since his funeral? Had Belle not sung the lament for him?

"I can't break through it. It's too strong," Regina hissed between muttered incantations.

Nodding absently, Red gazed down at Belle and the mysterious man, her heart slowly shattering with every second the other's smile continued.


	32. A Tale in Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can show you the world  
> Shining, shimmering, splendid  
> Tell me, princess, now when did you  
> Last let your heart decide?
> 
> ~"A Whole New World", Aladdin

"So how much farther do you think you have?" Ruby asked. "Sounds like the plot's developing fast."

"It's hard to tell," Belle said shortly. She had no idea where the sudden interest in her story was coming from, but every time she'd seen Ruby for the past week it seemed like she was getting a full inquisition on the topic. It was flattering, for sure, and normally she wouldn't mind rambling on about it. Normally. The likelihood that said story was in fact real put a bit of a damper on things.

"Because the characters are in control?"

"Something like that." Belle sighed. "Look, I'm glad you're interested, but you're really distracting. Is there something specific you want to know?"

"No." Ruby shrugged uncomfortably. Guilty. "I'm just jittery about Emma and Henry."

"I thought you and Graham worked that out."

"We did. It's just… awkward."

Belle nodded, but her focus was already sliding away from the conversation and back into the story at her fingertips.

 

* * *

 

Snapping yet another book shut, Regina shoved it back on the shelf. The Castle's library was not her favorite location, yet necessity outweighed any displeasure from being in the bookworm's territory. All morning. She'd spent all morning looking through tome after tome of old magic, new magic, theoretical magic, mythical magic.

That glamour should have been impossible.

She'd tried every incantation she knew. Every possibility. Nothing could be that strong. It simply wasn't possible. Yet the stranger's shield had held even against her formidable power. But how? None of the books held answers.

There was a soft thud as the library's doors shut behind someone. Regina froze. She had every right to be here, but almost no one used this room. There was only one… With a quickly whispered spell to conceal herself, Regina stepped out from shelves.

It was Belle. Of course. Slowly and quietly—the glamour was a simple one, a mere misdirection of light—Regina followed her back into the stacks of books. Belle moved quickly, with purpose. She wasn't here to browse or admire the books as she sometimes did. Only when she reached the furthest shelves by the wall where the evening light shone through the tall windows did Belle slow her pace.

"Rum? Are you there?" Belle called softly, looking around.

_Rum? What sort of name is that?_ Regina frowned and followed Belle to where she turned into an aisle. Pressing her back against the end of the shelf, Regina peered around. If this Rum was the man from the ball, he would have the power to see through her glamour if she wasn't careful.

"—it was too dangerous," she heard Belle say. A maniacal laugh responded. "I mean it!" Belle continued. "I'm treading in dangerous water as it is. Sir Gaston is always around."

The man—Rum—responded too quietly for Regina to make out his words. His voice had an odd lilt to it. A foreigner? How did he get into the Castle? No matter, Regina was sure of it: this was the same man that Belle had met in the forest. The man she'd claimed to love.

"You shouldn't be so careless," Belle said.

"You shouldn't hide from me."

"I'm not hiding," Belle snapped. "I'm using common sense." She sighed. Regina snuck a glance around the bookcase. It was indeed the strange man from the night before. He stood with his back to her, his arms around Belle. Her head was rested on his shoulder, face tilted into his neck.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to snap."

Rum murmured something softly into her hair.

"Why won't you simply tell me? You always disappear. It would be easier—"

"I've told you. It's dangerous." He spoke seriously, the lilt in his voice faded away.

"I don't care. We'll be gone soon anyway—what does it matter?" Her voice was less muffled—Regina looked around again: Belle had pulled away, facing Rum head on. "I can take danger, but I can't live in the dark anymore. "

"I won't be able to protect you—"

"Please. If not now, come to my room tonight. Tell me then."

"Belle—"

"Tell me everything. Please."

There was a pause. Regina looked around. Rum's demeanor had changed. She knew merely from the stance of his body that if he spoke, the lilt would be back.

"Are you sure, dearie?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

Without warning, a column of purple smoke enveloped him. When it cleared, he was gone. Belle threw up her hands and stalked out from the stacks, towards the library's entrance. Regina waited for the door to close before she removed her glamour. She was certain Red would find this news interesting indeed.

 

* * *

 

The nights were dreadfully cold. During the day, the sun warmed the world a bit, but once it sunk below the horizon, the depths of winter returned. Which left Belle shivering as she walked home after dark.

As every night, golden light shone from the windows of the Pawn Shop. A smile grew on Belle's face as she approached it. She might not believe Gold completely, but she'd kissed him. And that had seemed to make some sort of difference. Perhaps it was a mere inclination to believe him. Or perhaps simply an increase of affection for him.

And as he had been the past few nights, Gold was missing from the front of the shop.

Instead of passing by in disappointment, Belle opened the door and stepped into the golden warmth. As the door closed behind her, the bell rang a second time and a gust of cold air blew into the shop.

 

* * *

 

Belle curled up on the couch in Snow and Charming's antechamber. She didn't know why she'd expected anything different. He always vanished. That's how he worked. Yet she'd still been surprised. Afterwards, she had wandered the Castle, unable to find a place to rest. She couldn't stay in her room—he'd show up there, if anywhere. So she'd ended up in the privacy of her friends' antechamber.

A book lay open on her lap. She'd grabbed it on her way out of the library. She didn't even know what it was. The words didn't make sense to her. They were scribbles on a page and her mind was full of Rum and how she could possibly get out of her engagement to Gaston.

She would have to run away. It was the only option. And it would have to be soon. The longer she stayed, the easier it would be to get tied down here. And if Rum continued to appear like he had been, the more likely it would be that they would be caught.

Where would she go? Her childhood land was overrun with ogres. Part of her wished to see where Rum lived, but what if he didn't live anywhere? He was the Sorcerer—did he even need a place to live? Or what if it was unsuitable for a simple human girl? She would need Rum's help to escape no matter where she went. The King would be expecting something of the sort. He'd go after her. Perhaps Rum would be able to transport her with magic. Somewhere far away, where there were no ogres or kings looking to marry her off. A part of her felt bad; she didn't want to abandon her friends in war. But however things went, it looked like she wouldn't be fighting anymore. Certainly not as Gaston's wife.

The door slammed open, knocking into the wall with its force. Red stormed in.

"How could you?" she cried. Her eyes were tinged with yellow—when her emotions were strong, the wolf was never far behind. Belle's book fell from her lap to the floor. She opened her mouth to ask what on earth Red was talking about, but the other continued.

"It's been a week. A week since he was buried. And you've already moved on!"

"What?" Belle said almost reflexively. It wasn't unusual for her and Red to fight over things, but Red was never this _distraught_.

"I saw you last night. Don't think I didn't."

It took a few seconds for Belle to figure out what exactly Red meant: Rum. "Red—"

"I trusted you," Red said. Her voice was shaking with the force of her anger. "I gave you the lament because I believed you still loved him. I thought your heart was broken and instead here you are, with another man."

"Red, it's not like that—" _Yes, it is_. It was like that. Had she not berated herself for the very same thing? Had she not wanted to refuse because it was dishonest to accept? It was like that. Exactly.

"Then what is it like?" Red demanded.

Belle opened her mouth, but, finding no words to say, could only close it again.

"Nothing? Really? So you have nothing to say? Do you have no respect? For him, for me, for _yourself_?"

"I loved him," Belle pleaded. "I did." She stood, trying to reach out to Red, to make her understand that she had indeed loved Graeme. She loved Rum too—neither love diminished the other. But how could she explain that?

"Did?" Red echoed bitterly. "And when did that end? As soon as someone else came along to catch your eye? Or..." She paused, taking a breath to recollect herself. "How long, Belle? How long since you moved on? Was it when he died? Or was it the moment he was engaged to me? Or before?"

Guilt wrenched in Belle's stomach. It was every single one of her own objections coming back at her. It sounded even worse from another's mouth.

"Who is he, even?"

The Dark One. The Sorcerer. Rumpelstiltskin. Despite their truth, none of those answers would suffice. Her silence only fueled Red's anger.

"I can't believe you," Red spat. "I gave you his lament! My place! You understand? That was mine and I gave it to you because I thought you loved him!"

The volume of her voice grew with each word and by the time she was done there was the sound of footsteps in the corridor.

"Red—I didn't mean to—I'm sorry." There were tears in Belle's eyes and tears streaming down Red's cheeks.

Charming and Snow came running in, followed by Hook. They stopped just inside the door, transfixed by Red's cries.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? Betraying me? Betraying Graeme? How little honor do you have? Do you even hear yourself?"

"I'm sorry!" Belle shouted, but the words were no use. Not anymore.

"How dare you." Red's voice was full of disgust. Her eyes were slits, her teeth pointed, her fingers sharpening into claws. With a single movement, she stepped forward and slapped Belle across the face.

The force of the blow knocked Belle to the ground. Her cheek was on fire, burning. She touched the wound and her fingers came back warm and sticky with blood.

Charming and Snow rushed forward and grabbed Red before she could pounce on Belle. She was half transformed, clawing and growling and trying to escape. Belle's breaths were ragged. The salt from her tears stung the cuts on her face.

Unable to look Charming or Snow in the eye, she scrambled to her feet and ran from the room. On her way past Hook in the doorway, she bumped into him, but didn't stop.

She ran and ran, not stopping until she reached the foot of a staircase that led up to the top of a tower. The same tower she and Graeme used to meet on. The one where they'd said goodbye.

Collapsing on the bottom step, she leaned against the cold stone wall and let herself cry. Every tear hurt the scratches Red had left, but somehow she felt as though she deserved them. She'd sung Graeme's lament—taken Red's right—and been in love with another man.

The door at the base of the tower opened and closed. Belle considered trying to run, go elsewhere, but couldn't find the strength to move.

It was Hook. He sat on the floor beside her, his leather coat spread out around him rather ridiculously. He flicked a pebble across the stone floor. It bounced a bit, making a small knocking sound.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"Is what?" Belle's voice was wobbly from tears.

"That you betrayed Graeme?"

"No... I didn't."

Hook raised an eyebrow. He wanted the truth.

"It was after our engagement was over. There's just... Someone else." Belle sighed. "It's horrible, I know."

Hook shrugged and flicked another pebble. "Graeme was off limits, you moved on. I see nothing wrong with that."

Belle gave him an attempt at a smile—a thank you. Hook sat with her until the tower room had grown dark and she was ready to emerge.

 

* * *

 

"I'm surprised," Gold said quietly. He sat beside Belle at the table in the back room of his shop.

"Why?" She smiled softly and bumped against his shoulder. Taking a sip of the tea he'd made for them, she sat up straighter and looked him in the eye. Despite her initial nerves at entering the shop uninvited, she was comfortable again. Gold had been nervous at first, but soon relaxed, giving her another soft kiss and setting the water on for tea.

"You haven't asked me anything."

"About… about the story?"

He nodded. "Yes. That."

Belle wrapped both hands around her cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. She sighed. "I suppose…" she started. "I suppose I don't know what to ask. I don't know what I don't know."

"You know the story," Gold said. "The one you wrote."

"About the Dark Ones? Yes." Belle took a sip of the tea, replaying the scene in her mind. It had come quickly, the words practically racing their way to the page. "So…" She paused again, thinking of a way to phrase her question. "The curse. What is it? What happened?"

Gold sighed and took a sip of his own tea. He looked sadder and older than ever before. "It wasn't supposed to ever be cast—you have to understand. It was too devastating. Too much power for any one person to wield."

"But Cora and Zoso did anyway?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "It was my punishment."

"For loving the girl," Belle finished. He nodded once again, a wistful look in his eyes as he gazed down into his cup. "Who was she?" Belle asked softly. He hesitated, his features tensing. "You don't have to say—"

"Sweetheart…" He reached over and took her hand in his. For a moment, he simply held her hand, seemingly entranced by her fingers. Then he looked up, his eyes locking on hers. She couldn't have broken the gaze if she'd wanted too.

"It was you," he said. "You were the girl who fell in love with me and I with you. That's why it's so dangerous. The curse was cast to keep us apart. If Cora and Zoso find out—" He broke off, looking away. "So yes. The curse is real."

Belle barely heard the final sentence. She was the girl in the story. He'd fallen in love with her. She'd fallen in love with him. It seemed unreal, like something out of a dream—yet at the same time so simple, obvious really, that she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before. The scenes from her dream seemed to sharpen, the ease with which she'd fallen for him. It explained the instinctive love and trust of her character Rumpelstiltskin.

Though her world seemed to be reshaping itself within her mind, she managed to find words: "And the world of my story? The enchanted forest?"

"Somehow, you managed to bridge the gap." He shook his head, considering.

"What do you mean?"

"Your soul—like everyone else's here—is split," he explained. "That's no easy task. You're the epicenter of the curse—the one who had to be kept from me—so it's possible that your spirit was stronger, able to bridge the gap. I don't know exactly how. Perhaps it's the creativity in you."

"Are you also split?"

He shook his head. "No. My magic is too powerful. Cora, Zoso, and I remain whole. We travel between the two worlds at will."

Belle nodded, taking it in. If he wasn't split, then—

"What about Rumpelstiltskin?"

"He's me." He laughed—the same laugh that she was accustomed to hearing from scaly lips, not a human man. "That is why he and I could never be in the same place at the same time," Gold said, returning to his normal tone.

Belle blushed, the arguments and confessions and banter that she and Rum had had coming to mind. "Then you..."

"I have loved you for longer than you remember, sweetheart," Gold said seriously, taking her hand again. Belle grinned and nodded, some of her embarrassment fading.

"Wait," she said, another thought occurring suddenly. "The dream I had—do you know about that?"

Gold didn't respond. Instead he took another sip of tea.

"I dreamed of a castle..." Belle continued. She frowned, trying to recall the images. "A library... And then dancing with you and Graeme and there were two versions of me..."

A faint smile pulled at Gold's lips. "Yes. That was the closest you've been to whole in years."

"Then the castle?"

"Is mine. Our home. You remembered flashes of your real life." His eyes seemed to shine with joy at the memories. Belle wanted nothing more than to remember, to recall what must have been so happy. Gold seemed to know her desire. "Look, sweetheart, when you remember—you will remember eventually—I want you to know that I have spent every moment trying to find a way out of this curse and back to you."

Belle nodded, unsure what forgotten actions prompted his words.

"I made mistakes, Belle," he explained. "Terrible mistakes. You don't remember them now, but when you do... I've learned. I've had years to learn."

"I believe you." From the tone of his voice and the sorrow on his face, it was evident whatever had happened had haunted him for years. She squeezed his hand. He leaned forward and kissed her. She leaned into the kiss. The mere fact that she was here, kissing him, seemed unreal. She brought her hand up to touch his face.

Her elbow hit something and a moment later there was the sound of china hitting the wood floor.

Belle gasped and broke the kiss. She knelt to the floor and picked up the teacup. It had been nearly empty, thankfully. She turned it over, holding it gently.

"Oh—I'm so sorry," she said. "But it—it's chipped."

"It's just a cup," Gold said, taking it from her with a bright, but somehow sad smile. He set the teacup on the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"You have a question," he observed. "Ask it."

"How does the soul split? What does that even mean? Is this world real? Is that one?

"Oh, this world is quite real. This town is not, but the outside world is. As for the enchanted forest, I believe it is a shadow of our original one, but a lesser one."

"And the souls?"

"Splitting the soul isn't easy," he said again. "It's why you don't remember your life before the curse. And if you think back now, you'll find you don't clearly remember more than about five years back, which is when we arrived here. Before that, all you know is facts. Isolated stories. But they don't have life."

Belle thought back—it was true. Even the games she'd played as a child with Ruby and Mary Margaret and Graham were hard to recall exactly. She could describe what they had been like, but couldn't picture them. It was as if someone else had described them to her and she could only parrot their words.

Gold sighed. "It also takes away part of you. You are completely divided, only half of yourself. You have half of your qualities: half your creativity, half your kindness, half your love of books, and half your courage. It's why you spent all those months looking, but never coming in."

"The real me wouldn't have?" Belle asked, a teasing grin coming to her face unbidden.

"It's not the real you," Gold corrected. "It's the _whole_ you. And no, you would have marched in after a week and demanded to talk to me, the danger be damned."

Belle laughed, the image of her character doing just that coming to mind. "Can the curse be broken?" she asked.

Gold sighed gravely. "I hope so."

 

* * *

 

Red sat on the floor of her bedchamber, leaning back against her bed. Charming had brought her here after Belle had fled, asking her to calm down before she did anything she'd regret. Not that she'd regret anything she did to Belle at the moment. The wolf snarled at the thought of Belle.

She should have known the minute she saw Belle's smile at the ball. There was no way that man had merely been a handsome stranger to her. She'd known him. It shouldn't have taken Regina's story of the overheard meeting to convince her.

But was it truly such a fault to want to have faith in a friend? Even if that friend's happiness was breaking your heart?

The door opened and Regina slipped in quickly, carefully shutting the door behind her. The sorceress crossed quickly to where Red sat and joined her, wrapping an arm around her.

"I can't believe it. I trusted her," Red murmured. Her voice was clear, her tears long gone. All that was left was numb betrayal.

"I know."

"She always seemed to love him."

"She has many secrets. Even from you," Regina said.

Resting her head on the other woman's shoulder, Red sat, willing herself to cry. Her tears earlier had been hot, furious. Now, when she needed their healing peace, they were dry. She had no tears. Nothing.

"I know more," Regina said quietly after a while.

"What?"

"Belle and her new lover. I overheard them. They're meeting tonight."

"So?"

"She's engaged," Regina said, a cruel excitement in her voice. "A promised woman."

Of course. Belle's betrayal wasn't only to Red. Her engagement to Gaston forbid all other connections. If she was truly carrying on with another man, she could be arrested for adultery.

"But... But..." Red protested. She might be angry—beyond angry—with her friend, but that didn't mean she wanted her to suffer whatever punishment the law gave for adulterers.

"It's what she deserves," Regina said. "After what she did to you? To Graeme?"

The name brought a fresh wave of pain. It wasn't only Red who was hurt by this. It was Graeme. Who knew how long Belle had been carrying on with another man? The very thought filled Red with rage.

"What should we do?" she asked.

"I believe King George would find this news interesting indeed," Regina said. Standing, she offered Red her hand. Red took it, letting Regina pull her to her feet. "Come with me."


	33. A Slide from Sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sing once again with me,  
> Our strange duet  
> My power over you grows stronger yet  
> And though you turn from me to glance behind  
> The phantom of the opera is there  
> Inside your mind
> 
> ~"Phantom of the Opera", Phantom of the Opera

Her bedchamber was dark, the only light coming faintly from the moon through the window. Belle lit no lights, preferring the darkness. She took a seat on the window ledge and stared out over the quiet seas beneath the Castle, resting her head against the stone wall. A crack in the window let in a wisp of cold air. It felt good on her wounded cheek. Hook had cleaned it with rum and a handkerchief. It wasn't the best solution, but it worked for the moment.

Belle's eyes slid closed. There was only the sound of the sea and the sting of the breeze against the cuts on her face. She had deserved that. Red had been right. Her actions were inexcusable. She should not have sung Graeme's lament if her heart no longer belonged to him. It was wrong.

" _Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer_."

The dark voice came out of the shadows behind her. Belle's eyes flew open and she pivoted on the window ledge, pressing her back against the glass, her eyes searching for the intruder.

" _The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand_ _…_ "

The delivery was dramatic, skilled, with a slight twist of the words, enough to betray the familiar accent.

"Rum? Is that you?"

He stepped out of the shadows. There was no bow, no flourish. A simple step. He was invisible and then he stood before her in the edge of the moonlight.

"What was that?" she asked.

"A verse." He came to sit beside her. "From another world. It was written by a man named Yeats." To allow room for them both on the narrow ledge, he wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. "You didn't forget about our meeting, did you?"

"I—you're here. That's what matters." She rested her head on his shoulder.

"You're hurt." He drew back, turning so he faced her more.

"It's fine," Belle said. She caught his hand before it touched her face. "Red and I had a disagreement, that's all."

"It's not fine—"

Belle cut him off with a kiss. She didn't need him fussing over her. He didn't seem to mind, instead pulling her closer, enough that she was practically in his lap.

The room filled with light. Belle tore her lips from Rum's, but there was no way to gracefully extract herself from the window ledge where they sat.

In the doorway stood Regina, Red, Lady Emma—the Captain of the Guard—and a half dozen of the Castle guard.

Regina's lips were twisted and there was victory in her eyes.

Red's mouth was open in shock, her eyes filling with tears.

Lady Emma's face was grave. Slowly, she drew her sword and pointed it at them both.

"Princess Belle of Avonlea, you and your lover are under arrest. You have broken your engagement to Sir Gaston and shall face the consequences," she said. "Guards, take them away."

 

* * *

 

Belle hugged her book close to her chest as she hurried down the street, her head ducked down to keep her neck warm. The weather had taken a cold turn yet again, much to the vexation of all those anxious for spring. It wasn't even the sort of cold that involved snow or ice. It was simply cold.

With her eyes on the ground in front of her, Belle didn't see him until she'd already crashed headlong into him. She tripped, but he caught her by the arms.

"Belle? Are you alright?"

With a gasp of horror, Belle looked up. It was Geoffrey. An unsettling smile was growing on his face. She yanked herself from his grip.

"Don't touch me, Gaston," she snapped.

His mouth closed and his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What did you call me?"

"Geoffrey," she said. But it was too late, the mistake was made. "I told you to stay away from me."

"I—"

"Good-bye." She hurried around him and down the street, trying to seem as confident as possible as she did so. But her mind was spiraling into panic. It was a simple mistake, right? Not an indication of her split soul coming together. Yes, she wanted to believe what Gold had told her and while he was saying it, it had seemed so… well, so truthful. But as she went about her daily business, it was harder and harder to believe in such a preposterous idea.

Her feet lead her almost unconsciously to the Pawn Shop. She burst in the door and leaned back against it as if some horrible thing was after her.

"Belle? What's wrong?" Gold asked, coming out from behind the counter.

"What's happening to me?" she gasped. It was a silly thing to say—he had no way to know what she was talking about—but he didn't seem confused by it.

"The worlds are growing closer," he said. Nothing new then. She had come up with that herself.

She nodded. "Right." Though she was still full of uncertainty, she didn't ask for more explanations. She could barely process what she knew already. Every moment of the last day she had spent looking for small cracks in the world. Mistakes that would indicate a curse. She didn't need more explanations. She needed time. Time it seemed she didn't have.

With another nod, she turned and fled the shop.

 

* * *

 

Belle woke to the dank smell of damp straw. Her limbs were stiff and chilled all the way through as if she'd been sitting in cold water for hours. She stirred, groaning as her muscles protested. The floor beneath her was hard, uneven stone covered in straw. A few feet in front of her, there was a square of morning sunlight on the straw, but the rest of her cell—for yes, it was a cell—was dark. The air was thick and stale with more unpleasant scents beneath that of straw.

A hand touched her hair. Belle sat up, scrambling away.

"Shh, shh, dearie," a voice said. Rum's. It was only Rum. "It's me." His fingers wrapped around the bars that separated them. Nodding, Belle tried to get her breathing back under control.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Of course, dearie. Are you?"

"I think so." She looked around—the cell was squarish, just big enough for her to lie down in. There was a small window up near the high ceiling, the wall beneath it glistening from the spray of the sea that would, at high tide, spill over down it. The only other light came from a single lantern on the wall across from the cell. The light it cast was mean and dark, present more to be ominous than provide illumination.

"How long did I sleep?" Belle asked. She covered his fingers with hers around the bars.

"Only for the night. You remember what happened?"

"Yes." It seemed Red's face was burned in her mind. The pain, the anger, the betrayal… the victory. The woman who had once been Belle's best friend was happy to see her behind bars. How had that happened? _You fell in love with the Dark One, that_ _'s how_ , the voice in the back of her mind whispered.

"I'm sorry," Rum said quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Neither did I," Belle said. She pressed her face as close to the bars as she could. She wanted to touch him, to be held, if only to banish the chill that stuck to every surface of the cell and sunk deep into her body. She reached her hand through, the rough metal scraping at her skin, and brushed her fingers over his cheek. His eyes closed at the touch.

"I love you," she whispered.

His eyes snapped open, locking with hers. "What?"

"I love you, Rumpelstiltskin," she repeated, more firmly now. "Whatever happens, I want you to know that."

His face crumpled into a sad smile, full of joy and pain. He forced his own hand through the bars and touched her cheek. "Oh Belle," he said. "I love _you_."

 

* * *

 

Hook waited in an alcove outside the entrance to the dungeons until the stroke of midnight. He had been aimlessly wandering the Castle when they arrested Belle and her lover. The man had gone quietly, allowing the guards to roughly lead him where they wished. Belle, however, would do no such thing. She struggled and cried out the injustice of her arrest. The guards had been deaf to her cries. The only reaction came from Regina, who walked with Red and Lady Emma at the head of the group. Hearing her rival's pleas brought an evil light to Regina's eyes and a cruel twist to her mouth.

The top step down to the dungeon creaked loudly and Hook froze on it, listening for any response from the guards. The bells chimed the last of the hour and fell silent. Hook hoped they'd been loud enough to cover for him. Carefully, he continued down the stairs.

A group of guards sat in the small room at the bottom, the faint sound of their low laughter and the clicks of their dice echoing up the stairwell. Hook took a small device from his belt and lit its fuse before tossing it gently down the stairs. It bounced twice and then rolled into the center of the room. The guards stood and drew their swords, looking around for the source of the noise. There was a short fizz and the device began to belch thick blue smoke. The guards began to cough, no longer able to speak. Hook covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and hurried down the stairs. A few well-placed blows to the head were enough to knock the guards out. Stepping on the device to stop the smoke, Hook hurried on into the dungeons.

At a fork in the tunnel, he paused. There were two high-security cells. It wasn't likely that they would throw a noblewoman in with the rabble and common criminals. So Belle had most likely been put there, in isolation. There was no way to know which one she was in—he'd have to check both. Picking up the pace of his steps, he hurried up the right-hand corridor.

Some prisoners awoke as he passed them. They stretched out their hands through the bars, begging for rescue. Other slept on, unaware that one of their fellows would be liberated that night. Hook ignored them all, moving quickly.

The high-security cell was at the top of a flight of stairs. Hook took them three at a time, calling, "Belle!" softly as he reached the top.

Both cells were empty. Muttering the foulest curses he knew, Hook sprinted back down the stairs. Only with an improbable amount of luck would he be able to get to Belle and her lover and then out of the Castle before the alarm was sounded. Hook ran all the way back to the fork and around the bend. The corridor now sloped down, down into the depths of the Castle's foundations. The cells down this way were more often empty than not and the dank smell of filth and seawater hung in the air. The beat of his boots on the rough stone floor filled his ears.

A figure stepped out in front of him. Hook skidded to a stop inches from the tip of Charming's sword. Behind him, several more guards appeared from the empty cells. Hook spun, only to find that his escape was blocked by more guards, swords drawn. More slowly, he turned back to Charming with a sigh.

"You got me," he said. Charming only nodded to the guards to disarm him and bind his hands. Once they'd finished, they stepped back, pointing their swords at him.

"Go ahead on your rounds," Charming ordered. "I'll take care of this one." With murmurs of "your highness", the guards left. Charming picked up Hook's weapons and tapped him with his sword. "Walk," he ordered.

Charming escorted Hook up to the high security cell he'd just found empty. He dumped Hook's weapons on the bench and shoved Hook into the cell.

"There's a ship ready to set sail at dawn in the harbor. The crew is foreign and will be bought easily. The window across from your cell has hinges that will break with the right pressure. It'll be loud, so be quick about it." He locked the cell door and then pressed the key into Hook's palm.

"And Belle?"

"There's nothing you can do for her. I'll do what I can, but if you're here in the morning, you'll be hanged as well for trying to help her."

"I can't just leave her," Hook protested.

"You have to. I'll do what I can. But I won't watch two of my friends die. Leave while you still can."

Hook swallowed his anger and nodded tersely. Charming was right—he'd blown his only chance. There was nothing to do but trust the others to save Belle. "So this is farewell?"

Charming nodded. "Good luck." With a final nod, he left the chamber and hurried down the stairs. Hook waited until his footsteps had faded away before reaching around and slipping the key into the lock.

 

* * *

 

Belle sat at her desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard. All the blinds were closed. The only light came from the few lamps in the room. The next words to write were ready, waiting in the tips of her fingers to be released onto the page.

If the curse was real, if Gold was telling the truth, there was only one way to be sure: it had to be broken.

And for the curse to break, someone had to break it.

Namely, Belle.

So Belle had to know about it. All of her had to know.

The words were ready, the images in her head. It was madness, sheer insanity. Writing it down as part of her story would only make it more real. But what else could she do? Where else could her story go? She'd long given up trying to figure out the plot—what if this was it?

If it didn't work, so be it. She'd go on with her life. And probably not see Mr. Gold again. (For if he was wrong, she didn't like to think what brand of crazy that made him. Or her for believing him.)

If it did, then perhaps she could have her dream. The castle and the dance and those things Gold claimed to remember. And that empty feeling that had always existed deep within her, perhaps that too would be healed.

After all, it seemed belief wasn't a split second decision from none to all. Instead it was series of small choices, coming one step at a time.

Here went one more.

 

* * *

 

The only mark of the passing of time was the square of sunlight on the cell floor and the uneven rhythm of Rum's fingers rubbing over Belle's. They sat leaning against the bars that were stained with filth and blood, their hands grasping each other at an awkward angle.

No one had come for them, not even a guard simply to check that they still were there. The only sign that someone wanted to keep them here and alive were the wards placed around Rum's cell designed to disable his magic.

Belle was numb. Numb to cold, numb to hunger. She didn't want to sleep or stay awake. Each second seemed to be an eternity, yet the hours passed quickly. It would have been worse if they were waiting. Belle didn't expect anything to happen. She didn't expect anyone to come for them. They would be left to rot. It seemed she would get her ever after with Rum after all—only shorter and much less happy.

"Maybe it was all an impossible dream," she said into the cold dankness. Her throat was dry and it hurt to speak, but not enough that she would remain quiet to avoid the discomfort.

"What?" Rum asked, startled from wherever his mind went in silence.

"I thought we could run away," she continued. "We could be happy."

"Belle—"

"I dreamed of it, you know." She sighed. "Daydreamed, I mean. I wondered what our life might be like. If I could get away from here."

"You can't give up, sweetheart." He turned so he could see her face better, letting go of her hand for a moment. "Please don't give up."

She smiled sadly. "If I could see a possible solution, I wouldn't be sitting here. I'd be fighting for it. But there's nothing that can be done."

Rum didn't say anything. There was a pain in his eyes that Belle didn't think she'd ever seen there before. He hid it well, but that didn't stop her from noticing.

"I'm not giving up, I'm seeing reality," she said, leaning her head against the bars and rubbing her fingers over Rum's hand. Her fingers were stiff with cold. "It was silly of me."

"What was?" He also leaned against the bars, facing her. They were as close as they could be.

"To think we could escape. I should have known it wouldn't happen. It was too impossible."

"It's not silly."

"I don't want another crushed dream, but neither can I stop dreaming impossible things."

That declaration only seemed to pain him more. "You think happiness is impossible?" he said, in a horrified whisper.

"For us? Yes."

"It's not," he said quickly, firmly. The sound of his own words seemed to shock him.

"What?" Belle asked. He hesitated, obviously having an answer, but not being willing to share. "What are you talking about? Why isn't it impossible?"

"You won't believe me..."

"Please. Tell me. You promised to tell me everything." If there was a chance, if he knew something that she didn't… She wanted a chance with him. He couldn't keep that from her.

"Very well," he said. "Do you remember a certain dream you had...?"

 

* * *

 

The bell above the door rang as Belle entered the diner. The door snapped shut behind her, blasting the table nearest it with cold air, much to the displeasure of those sitting there.

"Hello," she said, coming up to the counter. Ashley was working today.

"Hey, what can I get you?"

"Nothing yet. Is Ruby in?"

Ashley nodded, pointing over to where Ruby sat in a booth in the back corner with a mug of hot chocolate. Belle nodded her thanks, heading over to her friend. She slid into the booth across from her.

"Hey. How are you?" she asked, reaching across and taking a sip of Ruby's hot chocolate.

"I'm alright. You?"

"Fine," she settled back into the booth, unbuttoning her coat. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Yeah."

"How are things with Graham? Have you seen him recently?"

"Things are great. I saw him yester—Belle, I'm worried about you," she announced.

"What? Why?" Belle asked, disoriented by the sudden change in topic.

"It's this story. It's consuming your life."

Belle laughed. "It's been doing that for months now."

"No, really. It's not healthy," Ruby said, annoyed by Belle's flippancy.

"Ruby, I'm fine. I've got everything under control." _Except for the curse and possibility of magic, sure_ , her mind finished. "And I do other things besides writing. I work—I'm here now."

"It's not that. It's the story itself. It's too close to reality, Belle. You can't just project your life into the story—especially not in such a... bizarre way. It's obvious to anyone who's read it that it's your life. And there's something wrong."

"Wait—you read my story?" Dread filled her and her voice went dark. "When?"

"Look, I know it was wrong, but I took it," Ruby said, impatient. "Your laptop was there and I had to know. I was worried, so I took a copy."

Belle gaped. Disbelief. Confusion. Betrayal. "How could you?" she gasped. "You had no right."

"I said: I was worried about you!"

"So? That doesn't give you the right to take and read—my story is private! It's not meant to be read yet."

"Belle, that's not the point—it's your character, Rumpelstiltskin. He's so much like Mr. Gold and I'm not sure that relationship is best for you—"

"You were all for it just a few weeks ago," Belle said flatly.

"Yes, but now—"

"You know what? I don't care." She stood. "Mr. Gold is a good man and I'm happy with him," she said. She might not be sure of that statement's veracity, but she meant it. "You had no right to read my private things. Good-bye."

"Belle!"

Without looking back, Belle walked out.

 

* * *

 

The sound of boots echoing off the stone walls cut off Belle's next question. Both she and Rum stiffened, but refused to move apart. The implications of everything Rum had told her swirled in her head. She supposed it should have been harder to accept, but after years spent reading about magic and curses and myths, it seemed all too easy to simply go with it. She'd fallen in love with the Dark Sorcerer—how ridiculous could a curse and a split soul be?

Two guards, each with torches and swords, came flanking Prince Charming. His face was grim, set, his eyes never quite focusing on Belle. She was another prisoner to him. She had to be.

"Stand up," he ordered. Belle and Rum hesitated, looking at each other. "Now," Charming snapped.

Standing brought out all the aches in her body. Stiffly, she straightened her back, setting her face to show no more weakness than Charming showed. Charming took the keys from his belt and unlocked her cell.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked as he cuffed her hands behind her back.

"Your trial."

Once Rum was cuffed as well, the guards led them out of their cells and up the stairs. Each step sent tremors through Belle's body. It hurt to walk, to hold her head high, but she continued to do both. Step after step, each one coming closer to her doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give credit to William B. Yeats for the poem I quote in this chapter. It's called "The Second Coming" and is one of my favorites.


	34. A Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh mama, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law…  
> Hangman is coming’ down from the gallows and I don’t have very long
> 
> ~”Renegade”, Styx

The ceiling of the throne room rose high above her head, creating the feeling of being in the bottom of a deep valley. On the walls were rich tapestries, but they were not enough to reduce the booming echo of every sound. The long aisle was lined with high-backed chairs on risers for those who wished to witness the king's rulings. Most of them were filled, all the court coming to see the happenings of the day.

The trial of Princess Belle of Avonlea and her lover.

Red sat near the front in one of the chairs. It was hard and uncomfortably rigid. Across from her, Sir Gaston sat perfectly straight, looking every bit the perfect knight. On the platform at the front was King George's throne, empty for the moment. Beside him was another empty chair—Charming's—and then one for Snow. She sat with one arm supporting her head, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to be elsewhere.

Regina sat down next to Red, looking as regal as ever, power coursing through the air around her. Red nodded in greeting. Charming was in charge of the prisoners, so the only one of their company missing was Hook.

"It won't be long," Regina said. "I spoke to the Captain of the Guard. Charming just went down to fetch the prisoners."

"I don't know if I can do this," Red said. She turned to face Regina, her hands twisting and untwisting the skirt of her gown. "Belle is my friend—"

Regina caught Red's hands, guiding them away from the destruction of her skirt. "Friends don't betray friends," she said. "If Belle cared about you, she wouldn't have done this."

"But—"

"It's for Graeme," Regina said. "That's why you need to do this. Testify for Graeme. This is how you must honor his memory."

Red took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright," she said. "Just… be here for me?"

"Every moment," Regina said, smiling. Red tried to mimic the sorceress' composure. Regina was her true friend. And she had to testify. For Graeme.

 

* * *

 

"Dammit," Belle muttered as the ink pad fell onto the floor, face down of course. She picked it up and put it back on the desk. The next book was stamped with a little more force than necessary. And there was a nice square of black ink on the tile. Yet another problem for today. First her inspiration had dried up, now she had to deal with ink on the floor. Fantastic.

She was kneeling on the floor, cleaning up the mess when the library's door opened.

"Belle?" Mary Margaret called.

"Here!" She stood, her hands full of black-stained paper towels. "I just dropped the stamp…"

Behind Mary Margaret was Ruby. Belle bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything she'd regret, though she wasn't sure she'd regret much at this point. Her anger with Ruby hadn't lessened in the few days since she'd found out. It wasn't even that she'd never intended to show Ruby her story—she'd wanted to. Eventually. The hurt was more that Ruby had taken without asking.

Dumping the paper towels in the trash, Belle turned her back to Mary Margaret, gathering the next set of books to be checked in. When she turned back, Mary Margaret and Red had come to lean against the desk.

"How are you doing?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Fine."

"You know you can tell us if something's wrong."

Belle slammed a stack of books down on the desk so Mary Margaret had to remove her arms from it. "Nothing's wrong."

"I'm worried about you," Mary Margaret continued. "You're not yourself."

"Killian says you told him the WiFi password," Ruby said.

"I messed up. It happens." Belle stamped the next book, again rather forcefully, but this time not out of annoyance with the ink pad.

"That's not all," Mary Margaret said. "You were supposed to get lunch with me earlier this week."

"I was?" Belle asked. She didn't care. She should, but she was sick of her friends' worry. She had enough on her plate without meddlesome friends.

"It's becoming a pattern, Belle," Ruby said. "You're forgetting things, you're distant."

"At first we thought it was just the story," Mary Margaret said. "But then it's continued and it's getting worse. You're not the same person anymore."

_Side effect of learning your soul is split_ , Belle thought. She glared at Ruby.

"Of course you'd blame it on the story," she said. "Look, I'm fine. Just because you stole my things doesn't give you the right to march in here—get out."

"What else has changed?" Mary Margaret asked. "You've been like this since you started writing. There's no other possible cause."

"What has? I'm fine. And so is my writing," Belle snapped. "It's important to me. Getting this idea was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"No it isn't!" Ruby cried. "It's unhealthy. You're too attached. It's your whole life. It's changing you. That's not good."

"So what? I say it's good," Belle said. "Now do you have a purpose here other than to critique my life?"

"We think you need to see Dr. Hopper," Mary Margaret said.

" _What?_ "

"Just a few times. It's for your own good. We just want to make sure you're alright." She took a card from her bag. "We set up an appointment for you. Later this afternoon, once you get off work. Please, Belle, we're worried."

"You're worried, so you set me up with the town shrink?" Belle was fuming. "How dare you?"

"Look," Ruby said. "If there's nothing wrong, it can't do any harm."

"There's nothing wrong. I've been busy and forgotten a few things, that's all."

"What about Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret asked. Belle paused, confused. They couldn't know, could they— "You've been seeing him all of a sudden. And then you were asking me if he was real. Belle, that's not good."

"And Geoffrey was at Granny's last night talking about how you called him 'Gaston'," Ruby added. Of course. She knew who Gaston was. Because she'd read the story. Belle should have known that slip up wouldn't get past her. "You're mixing up fantasy and reality."

Belle didn't say anything. Her jaw was clenched tight. They couldn't know. They wouldn't understand. It had taken long enough for her to start to believe.

"Come later today," Mary Margaret said. "Here's the information." She slid the card closer to Belle. "Please."

Ruby and Mary Margaret left, Belle glaring at their backs as they went. Once the doors shut behind them, Belle ripped up the card and threw the pieces away.

 

* * *

 

"Well, that didn't go as well as I hoped," Mary Margaret said. She sat down across from Ruby at the diner's counter. "I thought she'd at least listen to us."

"Is this the part where I get to say 'I told you so'?" Ruby asked, tying her apron around her waist. She gathered a mug for hot chocolate. Mary Margaret would need it. Ruby hadn't been so optimistic about confronting Belle. She'd tried that once. It didn't go well. Yes, she'd been wrong to read Belle's story, but her intentions had been good.

"No, it's not," Mary Margaret said, frowning. "This is serious. Belle isn't in her right mind. It's not a time for petty arguments and jokes."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Ruby asked. She waited impatiently for the machine to finish filling the mug.

"We can't let her see Gold," Mary Margaret said. "He's got something to do with all of this. And he's trouble. Because Belle liked him so much, we overlooked the fact that he's the town monster. I'm starting to wonder if that was a mistake."

Ruby nodded and covered the surface of the hot chocolate with whipped cream, then added a bit of cinnamon before handing it to Mary Margaret.

"We need to make sure she sees Hopper," Mary Margaret continued. The door of the diner slammed. Frowning, Ruby looked over. "It's only Regina," Mary Margaret said. "Her usual bad moods."

"Right. You were saying?"

"Hopper could help Belle, no matter what's really going on. We need to make sure she sees him."

"The only question is how to get her there," Ruby said. This was going to be more difficult than it seemed.

 

* * *

 

The doors to the throne room groaned as they opened. Belle and Rum stepped forward, careful to walk in time with one another, for their feet and hands were chained to the same rope. The ill-lit room was full of the lords and ladies of the court, all seated along the side, watching the prisoners enter with piercing eyes. Belle was suddenly aware of the thin shift she'd been given to wear. At least it was clean. Somewhat. The worst of all the gazes came from the far end of the hall, where King George sat in blood red velvet on his raised throne.

Nearest to the back were those with the least status. They looked at the prisoners with some sort of awe—or perhaps astonishment that a princess could fall so far. The high ceiling only made their stares more ominous. The aisle the guards led them down felt more like a cage than anything else. They were on display. Belle clenched her fists; she knew better than to grab for Rum's hand.

Those in the center of the room whispered as Belle and Rum passed. They exchanged what information they knew of Belle and of her mysterious lover. Rumors of Graeme and his death. Words muttered behind hands loud enough to be heard by all who sat nearby. Such was the nature of court gossip.

At the front of the room were the seats of those immediately involved in the case. They passed Regina and Red first. Both wore black mourning clothes. The former sat tall, her features betraying the hint of a smirk. The latter slumped against Regina, a handkerchief balled up in her hands. A pang of guilt struck Belle. She wanted nothing more than to make things right with Red, her dear friend. Yet it was too late. The choices had been made, the board had been set early on. Now they all had to pay the price.

In the front row of seats across from them sat Snow, the spot next to her empty and waiting for her husband, who walked behind the prisoners. There were dark circles under her eyes and she sipped from a glass of water. It shook when she held it with only one hand. Snow was yet another victim of this—someone else Belle could have protected.

Most of the seats around Snow were empty. There was only Gaston and a woman Belle didn't know. There was something… familiar about her though. She was older, stately. Yet it was her eyes that were most striking: they were deep, old, and full of hate.

Belle and Rum were brought past the rows of seats, up to a small gate before the dais, to which they were chained.

King George stood. The court rose with him.

"Princess Belle of Avonlea, you stand accused of unfaithfulness to your betrothed, Sir Gaston of Firthana. You and your lover will be tried for adultery and punished together, as the evidence warrants. How to you plead?"

Before either of them could speak, Gaston stepped forward.

"They plead guilty, Your Majesty."

"Very well," the King said without a glance at the prisoners. Again, he addressed the assembly: "To determine the punishment due to the severity of the crime, may those relevant persons now step forward to testify."

This time it was Charming who stepped forward. His whole body was tense, but his face stony and impassive. "First we present to Your Majesty Lady Rose Red of Anorien to bear witness of the crime."

He turned to help Red down from her seat, keeping his hand on her back as she stepped forward. Her eyes never wavered from the King. She seemed small, broken—not to win favor in the trial, but simply because she was capable of nothing else.

"I was betrothed to the Huntsman, Graeme," she began in a thin, wavering voice. "He had intended to marry Belle…"

She described her relationship with Graeme and his death, her words never pausing or changing their cadence. Belle knew everything she would say. Her focus was on how grief-stricken her friend looked. Never before had Red been so… attached. Graeme's death had been a blow to them all, but more so to Red than she had expected.

Red finished her testimony and stepped back. Charming led her to her seat as the court whispered among themselves. Belle tried not to think what they might be saying. Rum wouldn't look at her. His eyes had been fixed ahead the whole time, staring at a spot above the king's head.

"Now we present to Your Majesty Lady Regina, Countess of Ereamath the Lost, to bear witness of the crime," Charming announced.

"I suspected Belle's infidelity first at the masquerade ball," Regina said, her voice smooth and precise. It echoed throughout the hall, filling the ears of each person. "When she danced with this stranger, her movements were simply too animated. I had not seen such happiness on her face in years, not since her early days with Graeme. But still, a smile on the face of a dancing girl is no proof of infidelity."

Belle's heart sank in her chest. She knew this was Regina's doing. If Belle had not won the position of company leader, Regina would not have looked for a way to bring her down. And truly, there was no reason to start with the ball expect to send a message: this wasn't about Belle's loves, it was about her new position. This wasn't justice, it was revenge.

"I'd often noticed Belle going missing during our last mission," Regina said. "Yet I could never find any trace of where she might go. It wasn't until after Graeme's death that I spotted her: she was in the arms of a strange man and she whispered her love for him."

There was a gasp from the assembly. Belle heart sank further.

"The pair did not see me, and when we returned to the Castle, I hoped that she would have enough sense to end her dalliance with him once engaged to another. It seems I was wrong. The morning following the ball, I was in the library and I overheard their next meeting. There they made plans to meet in her chambers that night. It was then that I confided my findings in Red, hoping for support in catching Belle. Although it pained me greatly, I reported the meeting to the Capitan of the Guard, Lady Emma. That night we apprehended them in the midst of a passionate embrace."

With a bow, Regina stepped back. "That is all, Your Majesty."

She returned to her seat without Charming's help.

"Finally, Sir Gaston of Firthana will say his part," Charming announced. The man in question came forward, a swagger in his step. Belle doubted he cared one wit what happened here today.

"It grieves me to hear what my fiancée has done," he said. "The bonds of trust between us have been broken. I cannot imagine all the ways this will ruin our coming marriage. I ask Your Majesty only to punish her justly, with all she deserves, and all the more so to her lover."

He stepped back, and Belle could not remain silent.

"Lords and Ladies of Firthana! Your Majesty!" she cried. "I beg you to hear my part, as unwarranted as it may be."

The guards stepped forwards to restrain her, but Charming held up his hand. King George's mouth flattened in displeasure.

"I stand before you now, guilty only of love. My first love, Graeme, was ripped from me and given to my friend by arbitrary order, without consideration for our years together. Though hurt, I accepted this injustice with all good grace. I parted here with little bitterness and a resolve to move on. From there, I fell in love once again. I met this man who stands beside me. He pulled me from my grief for my first love and showed me that some are granted not just one True Love, but two. My feelings for Graeme faded to friendship as I embraced my new love.

"My return to you was shadowed by the death of my friend and comrade. My only comfort came from love. Yet upon my return, I was forced—yes, threatened even—to accept an engagement to a man for whom I had neither affection nor knowledge. I was given no choice, nor a chance to plead for my pre-existing love.

"Still, I assure you I have not violated my obligations to Sir Gaston in deed, only in the direction of my heart. So I confess to you now one thing only: love. Not unfaithfulness, not to the breaking of vows.

"Let me go! I beg you, for I have done no true wrong. I have only done what I could in the situations before me. My love is pure and I have been granted much of it. Are any of these truly crimes? Are they worthy of punishment? Instead, let us go. We will part, never to return. For truly, I can never love my fiancé, I can never be his wife. Not when my heart is sealed most truly to another. For sealed it is—"

"Silence!"

King George stood, the court following suit after a second of surprise.

"Before us today, we have a great tragedy," he said. "One of our best and brightest has fallen. Once a warrior and leader, soon to be the wife of a noble man, Princess Belle has instead committed herself to a stranger, one not worthy of her affections. She has betrayed her vows and now is reduced to begging for pity. Such a shame has not been seen here in memory, and we pray it never will again."

He walked forward until he stood on the edge of the dais, as close to the prisoners as possible without stepping down to their level.

"In light of the testimonies given today, and the seriousness of your crimes, I hereby strip you, Belle, of all of your titles. Your positions and honors will be given to others and your line ended. And now, to you both: tomorrow morning at dawn, you will be put to death, as you well deserve."

"As you well deserve," the assembly echoed.

The guards came forward and unlocked the chains from the gate. Roughly, Belle and Rum were turned, and then marched back down the aisle.

 

* * *

 

Belle pulled on her coat. Over the course of the day, she'd done every menial task possible around the library and no writing. The words had simply stopped. The other Belle and Rum had been thrown in prison, and then her inspiration had dried up. She simply couldn't come up with anything that might come next.

She needed to talk to Mr. Gold. That's what it was. He'd know what had gone wrong. Maybe it was something to do with the curse.

Flipping off the lights, Belle locked the library door behind her. She needed to see Gold, that's all. She was close to the story's end, she could feel it. Or the end of whatever—sometimes it was best not to think outside the terms of a story. The metaphor of a story seemed to simplify reality a great deal.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she hummed to herself. It wasn't really a tune, but it wasn't _not_ a tune either. It was merely something to distract herself from her worries.

"Belle!" Mary Margaret called as she passed Granny's. Her tune stopped abruptly. Bracing herself, Belle kept walking resolutely. "Belle!"

A hand caught her arm. It was Ruby, Mary Margaret only a step behind her, breathing hard after running to catch up.

"Where are you going?" Mary Margaret asked.

"What is it to you?" Belle asked coldly, wrenching her arm from Ruby's grip.

"Dr. Hopper's is that way." Mary Margaret pointed behind them. "Your appointment is in just a few minutes, remember?"

"I'm not going!" Belle snapped, louder than she intended. A few passersby stopped and stared. "You can't make me."

"It's for you own good," Ruby said, grabbing Belle's arm again.

"Let me go!" Belle shouted, wrenching her arm away. She backed away, breathing hard.

And then the words came.

They poured from her lips, she could not stop them. She didn't know what they were or where they came from, but they seemed as natural as anything she could have said. They echoed off the buildings and filled the street, projecting louder than she could have imagined. The words had power.

"I beg you, for I have done no true wrong. I have only done what I could in the situations before me. My love is pure and I have been granted much of it. Are any of these truly crimes? Are they worthy of punishment? Instead, let us go. We will part, never to return. For truly, I can never love my fiancé, I can never be his wife. Not when my heart is sealed most truly to another. For sealed it is—"

A shock ran through her body, as if she had been struck by lightning. She broke off, doubling over, still backing away.

Around, a small crowd had gathered, looks of confusion on their faces. Aloud. She'd said that aloud.

"Belle?" Mary Margaret asked, stepping forward.

Belle held up a hand. "Don't! Stay away from me!"

"You're not in your right mind," Ruby said. "You need to see Dr. Hopper." More and more people were gathering. Most were curious, but stood at a distance, unsure what to do or how to react.

"No!" Belle shouted. "I need Mr. Gold. He can help." Hands seized her upper arms. "Don't touch me!" she whirled around. It was Regina. A sudden rage came upon her and she raised her arm.

It hit Regina across the face.

Crying out, Regina fell back. From the crowd, Emma rushed forward. She grabbed Belle, forcing her hands behind her back and cuffing them. Belle didn't resist. Directly in front of her, some distance away, stood Cora, a wicked smile on her stately face.


	35. A Shattered Silhouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, we’re halfway there  
> Whoa, livin’ on a prayer  
> Take my hand and we’ll make it—I swear  
> Whoa, livin’ on a prayer
> 
> ~”Livin’ On a Prayer”, Bon Jovi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics at the end of this chapter are from the film Anastasia. Thank you to theshatteredsilhouette.tumblr.com for letting me use her url as a chapter title. A final thank you as well to elli.O. for spending two years working with me on this story, as well as for all her help seven years ago coming up with the idea in the first place.
> 
> And thank you to all my readers who have been with me throughout this fic, supporting and enjoying. You mean so much to me.

The cell doors clanged shut behind Belle. She landed on her hands and knees, her palms scraping on the rough stones. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

The light in the cell was dim—night was coming quickly. The guards marched back up the passage, taking their torches with them, leaving Belle and Rum only with the light of the setting sun over the water to see by. Rum scrambled to get to the bars and reach out to Belle.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm alright," Belle assured him. She joined him at the bars, lacing their hands together. _Tomorrow morning at dawn, you will be put to death_ _…_ One night to live. That's all they had. Yet it wasn't fear that overtook her at the thought: it was anger. Waves of indignation that seemed to fill her throat and mouth and boil up so she felt that she was about to choke on them.

"It was a sham." Her voice was thick. "The whole trial was a sham. We never had a chance. It was decided from the start."

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

"How could they?" Belle asked in almost a whisper. "They were my friends. And they watched. They _testified_." Her friends had done this. Red and Regina. And if the latter wasn't truly a friend, she was at least a comrade. It was their betrayal that hurt the most. Death didn't frighten her. It hadn't for a very long time. Perhaps once, she would have feared leaving Graeme alone. But now her love would die at her side. There would be no one left to mourn her. Not after today.

"Belle?" Rum asked, his voice quiet. His accent seemed clearer than ever. Perhaps death made everything seem to have more detail. As if the senses wished to take in as much as they could with what little time they had.

"Yes?"

"Did you mean what you said? About True Love?"

Belle swallowed. Her frustration still raged, but she tried to quell it. "With all my heart," she said.

"Then we might have a chance," he said, leaning in as his voice gained urgency. "There's a powerful magic—it won't be easy, but it might give us a chance."

"Truly?" She had thought death did not scare her. The relief she felt at his words showed otherwise.

"Are you familiar with the power of True Love's Kiss?" he asked.

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the sheriff's station, Belle had stopped struggling. Everything had drained from her. It was no use fighting. The inspiration was gone. She couldn't get to Gold.

"There, this isn't so bad, is it?" Emma asked as she locked the cell door behind Belle. It was an attempt to be friendly. At least there was that, even if Emma sounded a little as if she was talking to a small child. Or a crazy person.

Belle sat on the edge of the cot. Emma dropped her keys on her desk and picked up her phone. Only a moment later, the door to the sheriff's station opened. Graham entered, his arm still in a cast, looking as if he'd run the whole way there. Emma put the phone down and crossed to him quickly. She tried to keep her voice quiet, but in the silence of the station, Belle heard most of it anyway.

"I don't know why," Emma said once she'd finished describing recent events. "She just attacked. And before that—you should have heard it. It was strange. Like she was somewhere else. Quoting something, maybe? It was bizarre."

"Who else was there?"

"Ruby and Mary Margaret at the beginning. Then Regina, of course. But there was a whole crowd of people around."

"Have you talked with any of them yet?"

Emma shook her head. "I wanted to get Belle out of it."

Graham nodded. "You should go talk to them then," he said.

"I don't want to leave her—"

"I'll stay. You go figure out what you can. I'm not completely useless," he added with a glance to his arm.

"Thanks," she said. Raising her voice, she turned to Belle. "Sit tight. Graham is going to keep an eye on you. We'll try to get this sorted out as soon as possible."

Belle nodded, too weary to speak. She felt drained. Never before had she so clearly felt the separation of her soul. It seemed closer than ever before, but with the ability to feel it came a horrible sense of division. As if she were stretched and frayed.

Emma left with a nod. Graham sat down at the desk and gave Belle a terse smile before pulling out his phone.

 

* * *

 

Rum fell silent at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. A moment later, guards appeared, led by Lady Emma and Charming. The doors of their cells were unlocked. Not wishing to be dragged, Belle and Rum stood stiffly. The night had been another chill one, only made worse by the damp of the dungeon.

The guards cuffed each of them. Belle didn't resist, but flinched to watch the guards' rough treatment of Rum. They forced his arms back without warning or care if they hurt him. He caught Belle's eye, giving her a look as if to say "it's okay" and "don't forget what I told you". Belle bit the inside of her lip. She wouldn't forget.

Rum was led out first. Charming nodded to him and motioned for the guards to take him away. Turning first for one last sad smile to Belle, Charming followed.

"Come on," Lady Emma said, her voice grave. "We don't have all day."

Belle was taken up through the Castle—not along the usual corridors, but through the back stairs and spaces between the walls. She soon lost sense of where she was. Finally they arrived at the top of a tower. The stairs ended in front of a door made of bars. Within was a small, drafty cell.

"I'll return in a moment," Lady Emma said as she locked Belle in.

The cell was much larger and drier than her last one. There was a cot to the side of the room, as well as a small table with a stool. The windows were high up near the rafters, big enough to let in the first rays of dawn and too high to climb to. A bird had made a nest in one, but it had since fallen into disuse.

Belle sat on the cot, all too aware of the filth that clung to her. She could see it properly now that she was in the light. Her eyes were heavy, with the sticky feel of a sleepless night. It was all she could do not to fall back onto the cot and sleep. Yet impending execution had a way of keeping one awake. Not wanting to waste her last moments. Something of that sort.

Of course, there was always the chance that Rum's plan might work. But it was madness. Not simply in the realm of "not easy" but far beyond into that of "nigh impossible". She believed it would work, but that was not the trouble. There was simply too much up to chance. It was too likely there would not be the necessary opportunity at the precise moment it was needed.

The cell's door opened again, this time for Princess Abigail. Lady Emma was just behind her, as well as two maids carrying a tub of water. A few more maids followed, each carrying something else: a towel, a gown, a wooden box.

"Belle," Abigail said, rushing to her and grasping her hands. She paused for a moment, unsure what to say. "I'm so sorry we must meet like this."

"What are you doing here?" Belle asked. Behind Abigail, the maids were setting up the tub.

"It would be unseemly to let you appear so," Abigail said sadly. "We'll clean you up and prepare you for… the execution."

Belle nodded. So these were her last moments. The maids came and led her to the bath. Her nightgown was stripped and tossed aside to be burned later. The morning air was frigid. The water wasn't much better. If it had been heated at all, it must have been down in the kitchens with flights and flights of stairs to cool it in between.

Scrubbed and washed, she was helped from the bath and wrapped in a rough towel. One of the maids dried her hair as Abigail unfolded the gown.

It was pale grey, a sort of almost-white. It was simple to the extreme. It fell over her head and pooled at her feet where the skirt was too long. Abigail stood behind her and laced it up in the back. The dawn streamed through the windows, giving a rosy glow to everything. All she needed was a veil and she could pass as a pauper's bride.

Abigail pinned up her hair carefully, just as Snow had done when she was a child and they were too clumsy to manage their own hairpins.

"There," she said. "You look lovely." Belle nodded, knowing that her eyes were likely red and her complexion pasty. Nerves clenched in her belly. Emma unlocked the door once more. Belle lifted the front of her dress to keep from tripping and one of the maids carried the over-long back. Step by step, they descended to this macabre ceremony.

 

* * *

 

The clock on the wall of the sheriff's station was annoyingly loud. It didn't have a nice, hollow sound like a proper clock would. No, it was the mechanical, cheap sound that was most likely recorded as it ticked slightly out of sync with the motion of the red second hand.

And it was the only source of movement in the room.

Graham hadn't shifted from his position in ages and was half hidden by a coat rack anyway, so he was of no interest to Belle. There had been no sign of Emma since she'd left. Belle wished she had a book. Anything—just as long it would alleviate the boredom of sitting in the town jail. To make it worse, she could see her purse sitting on one of the desks, within it the outline of _The Voyage of the_ _"Dawn Treader"_ , the book she was due to start reading to the children next week. It was just out of her reach.

So Belle was left to lie on the cell's cot and stare at the dots on the industrial ceiling as the clock ticked away in the background.

It was against the (somewhat) steady rhythm of the clock that another tapping sound came. Belle sat up, looking around. Graham hadn't noticed anything. He was intent on his phone. Neither did he look up when the tapping sound was joined by the softer one of footsteps and then by the figure of Mr. Gold in the doorway.

After a grave nod to Belle, Gold cleared his throat. "Sheriff?"

Graham jumped up. "Mr. Gold. How can I help you?"

"I wish to speak with Miss French."

Graham stepped back, clearing the way for Gold to go ahead.

"Alone."

"Ah," Graham said. "I'm sorry. I can't let you do that."

"I have private business to discuss with her," Gold said curtly. "She was on her way to meet me this afternoon before her arrest delayed our appointment. I'm afraid the matter truly cannot wait."

Graham sighed, battling with himself. "Alright," he said. "But only because it's Belle. I'll give you twenty minutes." Gold nodded. Graham slid his phone in his pocket and grabbed his coat. "Don't make me regret this."

As soon as the door shut, Gold hurried to Belle's side. Up close, he looked awful. His limp was more pronounced than Belle had ever seen it. He looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in days.

"What happened?" Belle asked. She came to stand by him, hands curling around the bars.

"It's nothing," he said, his voice urgent.

"No, you're sick—"

"Belle, there's no time," he interrupted. "Listen. You're about to die. You and I were sentenced to death in the other world. If the execution goes through, there will be no chance of breaking the curse. I'll be gone and you won't have a soul to heal."

"What?" Her mind struggled to piece together the information. "How? I haven't been writing—"

"You think that matters? The curse exists whether you're recording it or not. Time goes on there as it does here." He cringed and gripped his cane tighter.

"What's wrong?"

"I split my soul," he said. His voice was strained. "It was the only way to talk to you. I'm chained up there. But the magic isn't holding well. I don't have much time."

"Until what?"

"My soul rejoins the rest of me. Or I die."

"What can we do?" She reached her hand through the bars to cover Gold's.

"We have to break the curse."

"Is that even possible?" Of course, he'd mentioned such a thing before, but she'd assumed it would be time consuming. Something that would involve serious magic and weeks of preparation. Not something that could be done quickly while his soul was torn apart.

"Yes. There is one magic powerful enough to break any curse," he said. He took a deep breath, struggling not to cough. "True Love. A kiss should be enough."

"A kiss?" Belle echoed. All at once it didn't seem real anymore. She was locked in a jail cell. The man she'd liked for months was standing in front of her, saying crazy things about fairy tales and true love. Did she really believe this? Did she love him? Had she ever?

"A True Love's Kiss with belief in the truth behind it should be enough to break the curse," Gold said.

"Should?"

"Nothing can be for certain, dearie. 'Should' is the best we have."

 

* * *

 

The stone walls of the courtyard rose hundreds of feet towards a vaulted sky painted with gold-tinged clouds. The sunlight sparkled off the outside of the stained glass window above the Castle's entrance hall. It seemed to give life to the angels pictured there. Under the angels' watch, the people stood, separated by an aisle that led down to the platform. There, a pole had been erected, two chains hanging from its top. The King sat to the side of the platform. The Prince's company stood behind him along with Sir Gaston and Lady Emma.

At the bottom of the steps leading up to the platform stood Belle's lover. No one knew who he was, only that he would die. A guard stood at his side, keeping him facing the platform. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed to be struggling to stand. Nearby, a group of soldiers talked quietly among themselves.

The doors to the Castle opened.

The crowd turned to watch as Belle emerged. Her gown trailed behind her on the steps, the hem rippling over them. Even her lover found the strength to turn around, his defeated eyes brightening at the sight of her. She was led down the steps by the guard she was chained to at the wrist. The courtyard was quiet. The only sound was the song of a nightingale that had made its home in the stones.

All turned as Belle passed. The nightingale's song echoed around the stones, sounding like a whole choir instead of one tiny bird.

The princess reached the platform. Her face was impassive as she shared a glace with her lover, but there was a hint of softness in her eyes. She was unchained from her guard and her hands bound together, then the two prisoners were led up onto the platform. As they did, the nightingale decided to end its song and the courtyard fell into complete silence.

A man followed them. Lady Emma also ascended, a scroll in her hand. With a steady voice, she read it aloud.

"Princess Belle of Avonlea, you have committed the crime of adultery against your betrothed, Sir Gaston of Firthana. For such a crime as this, you and your lover have been sentenced to death in a public execution. May God have mercy on your soul."

The guards chained both prisoners to the pole. The locks slid home and their faint sound echoed off the stones.

 

* * *

 

It turned out Graham kept a set of keys in his desk. Belle was sure this counted as things that would make him regret leaving them alone. Gold locked the door to the hall first. Belle watched, trying to keep her breaths steady as she mentally panicked. A kiss with belief and love and truth—could she do that? She willed herself to love enough, to believe the impossible. Forcing her mind didn't seem to do much.

Gold unlocked the cell and stepped inside, just in front of Belle. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Is this really all it takes?" she asked. He rested a hand on her cheek and she covered it with her own, gripping it.

"You have to believe, Belle," he said, looking right at her, through her eyes into the deepest parts of her. "You can't just decide to believe, you have to give in completely. No holding back. You have to kill your doubts and believe with your heart, not your head."

"How do I do that?" she asked, her voice very small indeed.

He smiled gently. "You stop thinking about it so hard."

"That's like saying 'don't think of a spotted dragon'."

"Not quite." His fingers were smooth as they brushed against her cheek. "You have to want it. You have to be willing to take nothing that is not the truth. You have to recognize that longing to be whole and let it fill you."

"That's not so easy."

"Nothing good ever is."

The sound of fists pounding on the door. "Belle! Gold! Open this door!"

Belle jumped and turned. "It's Emma," she gasped.

"And Cora's behind her," Gold said. "Her magic is close." He pulled Belle back to face him. "I love you," he said, taking each of her hands in his.

"And I love you." That, she was sure of. She could feel the power in those words. The door slammed opened and Emma rushed in, shouting. Gold leaned down and Belle met his lips with hers.

 

* * *

 

"Arrows!" Lady Emma called. The soldiers raised their bows.

Belle turned to look at Rum. Their eyes met.

"Take aim!"

Now. She could make the gap. There was no other moment.

"Fire!"

The twang of arrows.

Belle lunged forward just as Rum did the same. The softness of his lips mixed with the pain as the arrows pierced her body.

The last thing she knew was the sound of many someones screaming.

 

* * *

 

Gold pulled back from the kiss gently, his hands still tangled in Belle's hair. Her breath came in heaving gasps. She felt as if someone had filled her veins with soda. Her skin prickled all over.

She turned, wondering why Emma had not pulled them apart. But the sheriff's station was gone and all she saw was purple smoke rushing towards them.

 

* * *

 

Pain. All she knew was blackness and pain. It felt as though she was being ripped apart. She screamed, but she had no mouth with which to scream. She cried, but she had no eyes to leak tears. She was swirling, tumbling, falling. There was no sound yet there was thunder in her ears. No up and no down—no directions at all—yet she was moving without a body to move.

Her mind was jumbled. It felt too full as if it would burst at any moment. Memories conflicted, some familiar, some not. It was as if she'd been smashed together and was being sewn in place in no particular order. Her mind desperately tried to make sense of itself, of existence. But each second brought new confusion and new sensation.

Perhaps this was death.

 

* * *

 

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_.

The clock had a hollow, rich sound. Behind the stately count of each second was the faint whir of the gears as they turned and turned.

Belle's eyes opened. She stood in the main hall of the Dark Castle. The setting sun shone through the open windows, catching on their gold fringes. She stood by the table, a china teacup set in front of her. A fire crackled in the hearth, the sweet scent of wood smoke filling the room. Around her were the familiar trophies of Rumpelstiltskin's collection. And in the corner, his most prized one: the spinning wheel surrounded by baskets of straw.

She felt rather dizzy, so she leaned against the table, taking a few deep breaths. In her mind, there were two extra sets of memories, but they seemed distant, as if they had been dreamed or happened years ago. They didn't bother or confuse her now. She simply realized that _this_ was what wholeness felt like. She remembered an ache in those other worlds, one so subtle she hadn't even noticed it. But only now that it was gone could she truly appreciate its absence.

Idly, she ran her finger over the chipped rim of one of the teacups. On closer inspection, all the pieces of the set were different than she recalled. They were covered in spiderweb cracks, as if they'd been shattered and nearly perfectly repaired.

The doors opened. Belle turned, a smile growing on her face, as Rumpelstiltskin entered. He was dressed as ever in silk and leather, with the addition of a grin on his face and another in his eyes.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she said as a greeting. The name was sweet on her tongue. Unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, like a book she'd read often, but not picked up in several years.

"Belle." He came to her and took her hands, just as he had in another world.

"We're home. We made it," she gasped.

"Welcome back, sweetheart."

She grinned, and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him.

 

* * *

 

_Life is a road  
And I wanna keep going  
Love is a river  
I wanna keep flowing  
Life is a road now and forever_ _—_  
Wonderful journey

_I_ _'ll be there when the world stops turning  
I_ _'ll be there when the storm is through_  
In the end, I wanna be standing  
At the beginning  
With you

THE END


End file.
